


The Bridge

by BlueArtworks



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Violence, F/M, Fade To Black Romance, Kidnapping, Mental Health Issues, Modern Era, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Suicide Attempt, Supernatural romance, Vampire Politics (lol), Vampires, Vampires are traditionally very terrible people okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 39
Words: 120,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27421747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueArtworks/pseuds/BlueArtworks
Summary: "The Bridge" Is a vampire romance novel centered around the escapades of a human trying to survive in the oppressive San Francisco atmosphere, and a vampire desperately trying to keep his distance from his problems and his family. The two come together through chance at fate, setting off an irreversible chain of events that force them to face not only the consequences of disrupting order, but their own personal demons. Journey with them to new lands and through terrifying events, facing down the darkest corners of the world in a desperate attempt to right a wrong centuries in the making.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

Illness is a strange, fickle thing. Especially if it’s all in your head. Sydney Busch had discovered this all on her own over the course of a few months. At first, she didn’t even know what it was. Why she was exhausted all the time. Why nothing felt fun anymore. And why, most of all, the colors of the world began to blur and fade into shades of grey, melting like a painting in the rain. 

She had a perfectly normal life so it surely didn’t come from  _ that _ . Of this she was sure. She’d been raised in a good family with one older sister, gone to college, dropped out halfway through a bachelor’s degree because of lack of funds, and traded her artistic dream for a sensible job as most everyone does. A normal life. A safe life.

So where did this emptiness come from? This brittle feeling that hollowed out her bones and filled them with lead? Why was she tired and sleepless, losing weight all the time? Not that she had much weight to lose, anyways. Sydney had always been a bit of a gangly bird with long arms, wild red hair, and an upturned nose. But as of late she’d been losing the swell of her chest, the padding on her hips and thighs. It wasn’t a self-punitive thing, or much of anything on her radar at all. She just found herself… distinctly not hungry. It was only when she stepped on a scale in her doctor’s office and saw the lack of 15 pounds that an idea began to form in her mind. 

_ Am I clinically depressed _ ? 

She was absolutely sure she was. She was also absolutely sure she couldn’t bring herself to care enough to fix it. 

Sydney wrapped up another one of the shop's best-selling pesto paninis in wax paper and rang it up, giving the customer a dry smile as they paid and left. The fact that she only had a few minutes left until her shift was over would have comforted her in the past, but now? It made her feel nothing. She would just go home, go to sleep, and come back in a few hours anyways. A familiar whistle floated through the open door to the deli and she stifled a groan and tightened the stained apron around her waist. She knew that whistle and the distinctly irritating person it was attached to. 

In walked Jameson Higgs, a thin jacket pulled over his navy blue shirt. He was a short man with unwashed brown hair and was the self-proclaimed ‘best mortician this side of the Sierra Nevada’. Jameson ambled up with a smile and slapped the countertop, leaning forward and breathing on the pastry display case. 

“Hey there, amigo!” He said to Sydney, who was busying herself with cleaning the meat slicer. 

“What’s up, Jameson.” She replied. “What can I get you?” 

“Ah, come on!” Jameson wiggled his eyebrows. Sydney was keenly aware he had just put his hands on the glass of the display again, despite her telling him not to every time: they always smudged. “We’re friends! Don’t pretend you don’t know my usual.” 

Sydney pulled another one of her dry smiles out of storage (she was definitely running low on her supply of fake cheer today) and boxed up two slices of cassata cake. This was always Jameson’s dinner: he came here every evening at four to get it. Because of that, and the unfortunate fact that she always happened to be working the counter at that time, they had become sort of pseudo-friends. They were even buddies on facebook. Sydney had no idea how  _ that  _ happened. She just couldn’t say no: for some reason, she valued even  _ Jameson’s  _ happiness above her own. Even when he was the most relentless, signal-deaf individual on the face of the Earth.

It wasn’t like Sydney was big on walking around hating everybody. She tried to treat everyone with a practiced neutrality: lately, interactions had been exhausting for her. But Jameson wasn’t just a slight bother. He was pushy, talked over her, endlessly boasted about his vague achievements in life, and even went so far as to stroke her hair and tell her she had a pretty smile. The floor manager was pretty quick to threaten him with a store ban unless he cleaned up his act. He had, but he still believed he had never done anything wrong: he thought that in each awkward, uncomfortable, borderline predatory situation,  _ he  _ was the victim. 

As Sydney was sticking a price sticker to the cake box and ringing it up, Jameson cleared his throat. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets and stood like he was working up the courage to say something. “Hey, Syd…I was wondering. If you would, uh. Wanna maybe grab a drink with me after your shift is over?” 

Jameson’s change rattled into Sydney’s hand from the machine as the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, seeming gleeful to enhance the uncomfortable silence that fell over nearly-empty deli. “Jameson…” Sydney said, trying to assemble her face into something that didn’t reveal how miserable his proposition just made her, “That’s nice, but you really need to stop asking me that. Besides, I’m not even available today: I promised my neighbor that I’d have dinner with her and her grandkids tonight.” It was a flawless white lie: her neighbor  _ was  _ having dinner with her grandkids tonight but she was absolutely not invited. The past few months had made Sydney an excellent liar. 

Jameson’s face fell and he very poorly hid it by pretending to fumble with the pastry box, tucking it under his arm. If Sydney wasn’t already numb to his bumbling behavior by now, his crestfallen expression might have made her feel a little guilty. “That’s fine! That’s– that’s, I get it. Rain check. We’ll do a rain check.” 

Sydney sighed.

The glass door to the shop swung shut as Jameson left just in time for the overhead clock to move its little hand to the four. Sydney was off like a shot, finishing wiping down the appliances and getting the whole deli closed in minutes. The industrial-sized meat slicer gave her a bit of grief– the lid always stuck dangerously close to the blades. But whatever: it wasn't like the store owner was going to shell out the money for a new one for a long time. With a grunt of frustration and a few solid hits to its side, the lid finally clicked into place. The full store shutdown only went this fast because she had it down to routine: she’d been working the same customer service job for five years, after all. She traded her apron for a coat and locked up behind her. 

San Francisco always looked better in the evening, in her opinion. When the fog rolled in the drastically rising and falling streets seemed less endless, less inescapable. Sydney dragged herself down the steep street to her bus stop and leaned against the grimy side of the metal overhang. It was 4:15. The bus wouldn’t be there for another few minutes. Her dented and beat-up phone in the back pocket of her jeans sprang to life and she plucked it out with a furrowed brow, worrying a chapped lip between her teeth. Who could that even be? There was no one left in her life to call her. She checked the ID and sighed. 

Except for her older sister, of course. 

“Hey Hannah.” She apprehensively said into the speaker. 

“Sydney! Damn, it’s been so long!” The voice at the other end was cheerful and crackly, belonging to Sydney’s one and only sibling. “I was just going through my contacts, you know, getting rid of the old ones, and I saw your name.”

“So you called me?” Privately Sydney wished she had been deleted with the rest of them. 

“Actually, I have a proposition for you. I know it’s a work night and you and I are  _ both  _ super busy–” Sydney winced, thinking about her endless work hours and overtime, “– but you know that kind-of new club down by the wharf? The Plage, I think it’s called? They’re doing a house special drink combo thingie tonight. I’d love to meet you there! You know, have a few rounds, catch up. I miss you. It’s been too long since we saw each other.”

Sydney forced herself to swallow her automatic ‘no’. Maybe this was what she needed to shake herself out of this spiraling void she had been falling into. Maybe this wouldn’t end like every other get-together with her sister, with her feeling worthless and unaccomplished compared to her. 

“Sure.” Sydney worried the hem of her grimy coat and watched her bus approach. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

Hannah let out a noise of delight. “Awesome! Does seven work?” 

“Mm-hmm.”

“Great. This is– this is great! I’ll meet you inside; the first drink is on me.”

Sydney hung up and stepped on her bus, trying to tamp down the apprehension in the back of her mind. This would be good. She would make this good. 

* * *

This was bad. 

Sydney had dug through her apartment closet, hunting for something that was actually washed and looked half-decent: she hadn’t had the energy to do laundry for weeks now. Eventually she settled on an old green cocktail dress and hurried her chilly self through the darkening streets to wait in line for a good half-hour. Now that she was inside the Plage, the music pounded in her ears, lights dancing in her eyes from the strobes up ahead. Brilliant beams flickered and flashed across the crowd of people milling about, thrumming and moving to the beat of the music. 

She strategically avoided the sunken dance floor like it was contagious. The  _ last  _ thing on her mind was making a fool of herself in front of dozens of people: besides, she saw no joy in the mindless movements. Maybe that was late-onset cynicism talking. Regardless, she needed a drink. 

Sydney went through two old-fashioneds and waited for another half-hour to get a text she absolutely should have expected in the first place. “ _ Syd!!! _ ” It read, the blue of the text bubble bright in the dim atmosphere of the seated bar, “ _ So sorry! Change of plans, hubby needs help moving someone out of the office. Rain check? _ ” 

She shut her phone off. 

The music was too loud. It made her uncomfortable, made her ribs rattle and her eyes hot. But maybe that wasn’t the music. She ordered another drink with shaking fingers. God, she hated this. Maybe back when she hung out with her friends from college this would be enjoyable, but they had all long since jumped ship because of her deadened apathy. Now she was alone. She absolutely hated this, she shouldn’t be here, she shouldn’t be  _ existing _ . 

“Hey. Can I get you another one of whatever you’re having?” 

There was a man next to her now, leaning against the bar. He was a specific brand of beautiful: a youthful complexion with wide eyes, bouncy black curls, and dimples. Attractive if you were into that sort of ‘flushed and healthy’ aesthetic. 

Sydney blinked a few times:  _ Is he offering to buy me a drink? Me _ ? The voice in the back of her head sighed and put its head in its hands.  _ Of course he is. I’m a lonely woman drinking by herself at a bar. Easy pickings for a guy looking to work off some of his raging libido _ . The thought twisted her stomach: of course the only time someone would approach her would be to distract themselves. 

“Thanks. I’m good.” Sydney replied loudly over the music. She gestured to her own half-finished drink. 

The man nodded, small studs in his ears twinkling in the blue overheads. “I get it, I get it. How about a dance then? I promise you won’t regret it.” His expression was open, friendly. He was inviting her in with a cocked eyebrow that he probably thought was a total lady-killer: it looked a little bit ridiculous paired with his serious case of baby face.

Sydney let the frown threatening to cross her face slip on, full-force. “No.” She gave no further explanation than that, turning back to her drink. 

The man gave a soft sigh of disappointment and disappeared back into the mass of dancers with no further protest. 

She was alone again. Sydney finished her drink, thoroughly buzzed and well aware that she would be fully drunk once the last dose of bourbon hit her system. With every passing moment the music felt more and more distant, the thud of the rhythm becoming her own heartbeat. That deadly weight in her bones settled in to stay: it brought with it a dangerous, unpredictable sort of pain. It was already coming on in a wave now. That surge of violent, manic hopelessness that closed her throat and strangled her lungs with the futility of it all. 

As she wove her way back to the front of the club, past the pulsing mass of dancing bodies, she saw the guy who offered to buy her a drink. He was dancing to the beat, grinding up on some beautiful woman in the semidarkness. He looked unbothered. Unworried.  _ Why can’t I just let myself be that happy _ ? Sydney thought miserably. As if it was that easy.

She stumbled out of the bar a few seconds later, ignoring the bouncer when he asked if she wanted him to call her a lift. She’d walk home. It was dark, it was dangerous, and she found she absolutely did not care. 

The shoes bit at the back of her feel, forming blisters as she wandered up and down the empty streets, bag in hand. Sydney was surprised nothing had happened to her yet, and unsurprised that she sort of wanted something to. At least  _ that  _ would be something. A blip in the void of nothing that was swallowing her whole. A needle jump in the seismometer of her life. 

Eventually her wandering led her to the massive overpass that overshadowed a four-lane road about eighty feet below. It was a new installation, hoping to increase foot traffic through ease-of-access, but at this time of night it was desolate and empty. Sydney rested her arms on the overpass’s cold brick wall, looking at the cars rushing far below her. 

_ It would be quick, you know. Eighty feet into traffic is nothing. A blur, a second of weightlessness. Utterly painless. _

Numbness flooded her limbs. It was either the booze or the insidious pull of her thoughts, she couldn’t tell. Either way Sydney was mindlessly shucking off her shoes and letting her bag fall to the ground, swinging her legs up and over the wall, and letting them dangle over the highway that started to burrow underground into a tunnel opening below her. She looked out over the city; the lights on the edges of the impersonal and unforgiving buildings, and the thin black line that marked the start of the ocean far beyond that. 

Sydney lowered her feet onto a small decorative stone ridge on the outside of the overpass, holding onto the edge of the wall with white knuckles and shaking hands. She was hanging over the traffic now. Inches from death. She didn’t know why her chest was so tight, why her heartbeat was going so fast. Why hot tracks of tears were racing down her cheeks. 

Why was she so sad when she knew the world would be better off without her?

A breeze ruffled her hair and cooled her hot face. 

“Hmm. If you’re looking for a shortcut home, that’s not a great one.” A voice behind her said. 

Sydney whipped her head around, alarm coursing through her system. God, the shame of being caught here, being this  _ weak  _ in front of a stranger: it was mortifying. But the face she saw stopped her panicked thoughts in their tracks. 

It was the same man from the club. His skin was dark under the yellow lights of the overpass, smooth and healthy-looking even when subjected to the sickly fluorescents. He had his arms crossed on the wall, resting his chin on them and looking at her intently with bright, clear brown eyes. 

“Hi.” He prompted to her stunned silence. “I, uh. Know you don’t know me, but… I was hoping you could come back over to this side of the wall and we could talk.” 

Sydney remained frozen, jaw clenched. The man reached one hand towards her tentatively. She flinched, pulling away from him: her foot temporarily lost its narrow grip on the bridge lip and she almost fell with a gasp. 

The man blanched, withdrawing his arm. He looked down at the drop, then back at her, as if he was making a decision.

Sydney was utterly bowled over when he swung himself over the side into the same position she was in, all in one fluid movement.

“There.” He said a little breathlessly, readjusting his grip on the edge. “Oh man. That’s a long fall, huh?” 

“Are you crazy? Do you have a death wish?” Sydney cried hoarsely, horrified. This man was putting himself in danger because of  _ her!  _ She couldn’t stand the idea.

“Do  _ you _ ?” He countered. Sydney clenched her jaw in response, refusing to answer. 

“I’m Dorian.” The man said after a few seconds of silence. 

“...Sydney. I’m Sydney.” 

“Hi Sydney. You an SF native, or just visiting?” 

Sydney gave a weak laugh. “If you’re trying to distract me from the fact that you’re seconds away from death, it’s not working.” She paused, watching the traffic race below with a thudding heart, acutely aware of every second of time that passed. “I was born and raised here. You?” 

“Bah.” Dorian said. “Been here for decades now. Might as well have been born here. Even got myself a cozy place in Pacific Heights.”

“Pacific?” Sydney replied without thinking. “What, you a millionaire or something? I can’t even afford to breathe the air over there. I think if I stood in front of one of those apartments for more than 30 seconds I'd get a loitering ticket.” 

Dorian chuckled and shifted a little closer to her. He was getting nearer and nearer, centimeter by centimeter. “Dry humor. I like that.” After a few seconds of silence he was so close that the tips of their fingers grazed together. 

“You need to get back to the other side of the wall.” Sydney warned. To her, the drop felt like nothing, but she could already see in her mind’s eye exactly how the distance could shatter the man’s body.

“Not a chance.” He replied simply.

“ _ Please _ . Please go back. I don’t want to see you hurt.” She begged.

Dorian furrowed his brow, smiling. “Why are you so concerned with my safety? I’m just a random dude trying to stop someone from doing something stupid. You shouldn’t care this much, really. If anything you should be calling me an idiot, right?” 

“There’s… there’s enough heartache in this world, isn’t there?” Sydney replied. The wind blew strands of hair into her mouth, but she was too scared to let go of the wall with one hand to pull them out. “I think you’re a good person, and I always trust my gut. You deserve to be happy, safe. Everybody does: they all deserve kindness. ”

“So why doesn’t ‘everybody’ include yourself?”

Sydney scoffed dismissively, turning her head away to look at the city around her. She swallowed hard, that lump of emotion blocking her throat again. What was it about this guy and his blunt determination to help her that made her so sad? “Why are you doing this? You could get hurt: you could  _ die! _ ” She said shakily, looking at him with her miserable red-rimmed eyes. 

“Because I think you’re making a mistake. You’re sick, and you’re not thinking clearly.” Dorian said. “And I  _ really _ , really don’t want you to figure that out only when it’s too late. People… people have such a small allotment of time on this planet anyways. Is it really worth it to make it shorter?” He whetted his lower lip and shuffled closer. “Tell you what. Let’s make a deal. We get outta here, I buy you a slice at the pizzeria a few blocks from here and we talk. Nothing more than that. No strings. Deal?” 

A few more tears spilled down Sydney’s cheeks. She felt torn in two. A part of her mind told her this was a trap, a trick, to just  _ jump while she had the chance, just JUMP _ . Another part of her desperately wanted to believe in the hopeful words this man was giving her: she wanted an excuse to stay alive so much that it  _ hurt _ . She also wouldn’t be able to live with herself if this clearly altruistic man got himself killed because of her. Sydney swallowed a stubborn lump of emotion clogging her throat. 

“Deal.” She whispered. 

The thin brick ridge she was standing on gave out from under her feet with a snap, and Sydney was falling, falling, falling, air rushing around her ears. 

In the split second between her death and her life, she focused in on Dorian’s shocked expression above her. 

_ I don’t want to die.  _ She realized in horror. 

Suddenly someone’s hand was gripping her forearm painfully tight. She dangled like a spider on a thread above the whizzing traffic below, heart threatening to break through her ribs. 

“I got you, I got you, I got you.” Dorian babbled in abject panic above her. Sydney looked up. He was holding her whole weight with one hand, anchoring himself to the wall with the other. It was a feat of incredible strength she had never seen before. Dorian hauled her back up to the wall without so much as a look of strain or a grunt of exertion, but she didn’t have time to think about that when she was clinging to the wall, scrabbling over the other side, panting and putting her hands on her knees once she was back on terra firma. Dorian hopped down beside her, rubbing circles on her back. She distantly heard him telling her to breathe. 

Sydney focused on inhaling, exhaling, steadying the world of concrete and street lights around her. She sat down on the ground beside her shoes. Dorian hunkered down opposite her, watching her with laser-like intensity. 

After the world finally stopped rotating and her breathing didn’t burn her throat, she wiped her mascara-smudged eyes with her hands and looked up at the man who just saved her life. “The pizza’s on me.” 

Dorian grinned. 


	2. Chapter 2

True to promise she and Dorian slipped into the closest still-open pizzeria they could, sitting at a grimy table. Sydney devoured two slices immediately, suddenly finding the appetite she had been missing all these months had returned with a vengeance. 

“At this rate we might as well just buy the whole pie.” Dorian said with a satisfied smile, an arm slung over the back of his seat. He watched her eat intently. He looked so out of place in the grubby little eatery, like some famous European sports player skulking about the city in-between matches.  _ He should be at the Met Gala in that getup _ , Sydney thought idly through a mouth full of pizza,  _ or tacked up on someone’s inspiration board _ . 

“Yeah, well, I guess a brush with death really cranks up your appetite. I also haven’t really been feeding myself well for a good while. Maybe pizza’s a good place to start.” Sydney said. As she worked on finishing a crust Dorian nodded to the guy behind the counter, holding up two fingers and mouthing  _ two more please _ . Sydney looked at the man across from her. “Are you sure you’re not hungry? This might just be the adrenaline or the booze talking but this pizza is surprisingly good. And I’m sure that after what we’ve been through you’ve worked up a hunger.” She paused. “If it’s a money thing, I can totally pay. I don’t mind, really.” 

“I think anything you eat in the middle of the night is gonna taste good, because you’re only eating that late if you’re starving.” He crossed his arms and tilted his head, smiling. “And no. Really. I’m fine. I’m on a diet, actually.” 

Sydney rolled her eyes and smiled. “Of course you are.”

Dorian had the gall to look offended. “What does  _ that  _ mean?” 

“It means of course you are. You look like an Italian supermodel.”

For some reason he found  _ that  _ particularly funny. “Greek, actually. But thanks. I try. It’s hard looking this good, you know.” 

“Hardy har har. How very egocentric of you. But when you’re right, you’re right, I guess. Can’t argue with facts.” 

He stuck his tongue out at her: it was pierced right through the center with a steel bar. Sydney shivered: she couldn’t imagine sticking a needle through an organ as sensitive as your  _ tongue  _ just for cosmetics. 

The exhausted looking middle-aged man who was manning the counter slouched over and threw a paper plate with two more oily slices on it onto the table. Dorian nodded in thanks and pushed them over in Sydney’s direction. 

She raised an eyebrow but accepted. She  _ really  _ hoped this guy didn’t have a thing for watching people eat: that would completely murder the whole friendly ‘we both almost fell off a bridge and died but didn’t’ vibe they had going on. She didn’t register the lapse in conversation as uncomfortable (she was too busy tucking into more pizza), but Dorian cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

“So. You got family?” He asked. 

“Mmm.” Sydney had to hold a finger, chewing and waiting until she finished. “Yeah. Got a sister in the city. My mom and dad aren’t around though, they retired to Florida a few years ago. But, ah… I’m not a big fan of talking about me. What about you, Discobolus?” 

“Disco–” He spluttered with an indignant grin. “Hey, if we’re gonna be doing crappy nicknames based on appearances and country of origin, you better watch yourself… Raggedy Ann.” 

Sydney thumped her hand on the table and coughed out a laugh. “Oh, that’s– that’s a low blow.”

“And to answer your question, yeah. I got family. Too many siblings I don’t really like, honestly. But my parents passed away a long time ago.” 

“Oh. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up something painful.” 

“Don’t be.” Dorian crossed his arms and settled into his chair, looking unbothered. “They were good, hard-working people. First-generation immigrants from Greece. When they died I flew them home, buried them in their hometown. That was a… rough week.” 

Sydney nodded. “I’d imagine. I had to head down to Florida last year when my uncle passed away: he was closer to me than my father ever was. It's always difficult when people disappear from your life. Sorry you had to lose something so important.” 

“Yeah.” Dorian adjusted his intentionally left-open collar so it remained symmetrical. As nice as he seemed to be, he was indeed a very big fan of keeping up his appearance. “Sounds like you’ve lost a lot of people too, then.”

“Of course. Grandfathers, grandmothers, friends. I’ve… lost more than just people, if I’m being honest. But haven't we all? It’s a part of life that everyone goes through. It’s not a big deal.” 

“So that’s not why you’re depressed.” 

Sydney blinked, caught off-guard by his blunt forwardness. Her issues, and how her estranged family dealt with them, were often tip-toed around. Whispered about. Judged by people she knew and people she didn’t alike. But Dorian? He talked about it like you’d talk about getting a bad cold. 

He noticed how his brusque observation had temporarily stunned her. “I’m sorry.” He held his hands up apologetically. “I’ve just been around the block and met all kinds of people with all different sorts of… problems. If they’re not busy pretending to be what they’re not, they’re sick and tired of being treated like monsters.”

Sydney folded the empty paper plate in half and threw it into the nearby trash bin. “No, please, don’t apologize. It’s refreshing. I actually… I’ve never told anyone about it before, so. Yeah.” She looked down at her greasy and pizza-stained hands like she was seeing them for the first time. In a way she was; it had been a good few months since she was fully in her body like this. “...Yeah. I think I might have a serious problem.”

“Mmm. First step to recovering  _ is  _ admitting you have a problem, Raggedy Ann.” Dorian said with a chuckle. Sydney nodded with a tired smile, biting the inside of her cheek. After a moment the curly-haired man sidled up to the counter, paying for her mega-dinner despite her vehement protests that she could cover it. 

“Okay. This might come off as weird.” Dorian said as they walked out into the street. He pulled out his phone: Sydney noted with bemusement that it was the newest smartphone, an edition that had just been released quite literally yesterday. He really was a rich boy; judging by his young age he was probably still leeching off of his parent’s money. “Let me give you my number. In case it ever gets bad again.” 

Sydney nodded, logging his number into her phone. It was odd; judging by his appearance she never expected him to act like this. Down to earth. Kind. More regulated than she thought a club-going party boy would be. “Uh, thanks. Seriously, Dorian. I appreciate it. You’ve… you’ve been really nice to me. That hasn’t been the common theme in my life.” 

Dorian beamed, showing off rows of straight white teeth. “Hey, I was doing what anyone would have done. And I’m glad I did: you’re… you’re a  _ good  _ person, Sydney. Kind.” He cleared his throat. “But yeah. Text me or call me, I mean it. This isn’t some white-knight courtesy move.” 

“I figured.” Sydney said with a smile, tucking her phone back into her jacket. “You don’t really seem like the type to go home and write a long-winded media post on how you saved the damsel in distress today.”

“Yeah, not really my style.” He paused for a second like he was wrestling with words. “You… you’re good, right? You don’t need me to drop you off at a hospital? You’re gonna be safe?” 

“Completely. I pinky-promise, Discobolus.” Sydney looked down at the hand Dorian had suddenly extended towards her, his pinkie out. She snorted and linked her own finger around it: his skin was perfectly temperate against her own frigid hand. 

“That’s what I like to hear, Raggedy Ann. And thanks.”

“Why are you thanking  _ me _ ?” 

He shrugged, looking around the dark streets before them both. “I’ve been in a sort of a haze lately: going from club to club, bar to bar. Drinking, dancing, waking up in a stranger's bed. You gave me a good shake. I think I’ve got my priorities in order, now: sometimes I forget that not everybody sees the world through the same lenses that I do.”

“It’s not every day I can say I helped someone get back on the right track by trying to throw myself off a bridge. You’re… welcome.” 

“Don’t forget. Give me a call if you need me.” 

They held their eye contact for a few seconds too long. Dorian’s gaze was so bright, so intense and curious. Sydney realized it had been a long time since someone looked at her like that: with a soft sort of interest that lacked any malice or motive. The only other person who would stare at her this long was Jameson, but this was different. It held none of the predation his gaze did. 

She nodded her head and they said their goodnights. Then Sydney began to walk in the opposite direction, heels clicking away into the night, towards what she hoped was a better future. 

She got home to her apartment, set her bag down, and immediately cried for a good hour: the past evening had been a complete shock to her system and coming down from it all made her shake so hard her fingers vibrated. Then with mascara still running down her cheeks, she called her doctor and set up a prescription to pick up tomorrow and a therapy routine to go to after work every day. 

Sydney had always convinced herself there was no getting better, no way out from the ashen haze she had found herself trapped in. Now was the first time in months that she actually believed that the future was actually looking a little brighter. 

* * *

“Alright, you take care now!” The sweet elderly pharmacy worker called after Sydney’s retreating form. He waved at her from behind the counter, eyes crinkled with a smile. 

“I always do!” Sydney called over her shoulder. She resettled her knitted scarf around her neck and stepped out of the sliding doors of the drugs store, renewed prescription in hand. It had been a solid four months since her brush with death and lowest point. She’s been on a rigorous schedule since then, doing everything she could to beat her apathy and numbness back with a wooden stick. She had gotten a taste of the genuine light and vigor that life could hold, and damn her if she was going to let that slip between her fingers again.

Making friends outside of work helped. She joined a small horticultural group that met on Wednesdays, on the upper floor of a bookstore slash café. Through the passion of the people there (mostly moms, elderly men, and a few stray teenagers) her tiny apartment windowsill that faced the sun had a vast and ever-growing collection of tiny ferns, agave, and African violets. Whenever she woke up on mornings that were dark and early and enough to make her miserable again, all she had to do was look at the little splotches of green that thrived even amidst the old concrete walls of the inner city. They were so small, so sweet. She lived to protect them.

Sometimes things  _ would  _ get bad, though. Recovery wasn’t a straight line, as the posters on her therapist’s walls liked to remind her. On nights that were particularly awful sometimes she’d open up her phone’s small contact list and just stare at Dorian’s name, and at the little blank icon next to it. Fitting, considering she didn’t even really know the guy. She had been tempted to call him a few times, she really had. But the longer she went without messaging him the more certain she felt that it would be wrong of her to drag him into her turbulent mind without warning. 

Time marched on. For the first time in a long while Sydney found herself struggling against the rising tide of events in her life, and  _ winning _ . 

It sounded a little bit cliché, but her therapist told her to appreciate the little things in life. She snorted in derision when she first heard it, but it  _ worked _ . She liked the shade of blue a woman’s purse was on the bus. The pigeons that littered the boardwalk were a special sort of iridescent in the right light. Slowly, over time, Sydney was teaching herself to take her surroundings and thoughts and dig through them until she found a side of them that was good. True, it felt ridiculous and borderline idiotic at times– like when her phone was stolen at a central subway station– but then she realized that even the worst things could sometimes come with perks, even if they were weird. Like how she wouldn’t have to see Jameson’s inane and endless messages while she was getting a new phone. 

A gust of late autumn wind swept down the steep street, making the pedestrians shiver. The sun was going down behind the buildings, but even at its mid-day height it gave little warmth at this time of year. Sydney quickened her pace: she had her chlorophyll babies at home who needed watering and trimming, and she just so happened to have a new pair of bonsai shears in her pocket from her stop at a plant nursery today. Her older sister, who she’d been half-heartedly trying to repair a relationship with, didn’t understand why she would choose to spend all her time raising  _ plants  _ when she could have something cuter, like a chihuahua. Sydney explained that animals are nervous, twitchy creatures. They’re so high-demand and so… touchy. An animal gets sick, gets impatient when you’re too depressed to get out of bed for eight hours. Plants? Plants understand. They’ll give you your space. All they want is a little water and a little love.

Sydney hurried across a crosswalk, barely making it in time and eliciting several angry beeps from the traffic beside her. With a sigh, she turned down a narrower road that cut away from the generally crowded district and through the back of some apartment buildings. Thankfully the road was empty. 

Without warning there was a flurry of movement to her left, and Sydney startled as a cat hopped down from a trash can. It sat in front of her and let out one low, pitiful  _ mow _ . 

“Ah, hey. C’mere kitty kitty kitty!” Sydney cooed, walking forgotten. She may not have been much of an animal person, but the poor thing looked like a wreck: it was boney thin and flea-ridden, one of its ears damaged and warped. It really looked like if it didn’t get help soon it would keel over and die. The cat nimbly weaved away from her outstretched gloves, giving another low  _ mow _ and wandering around the side of a building and into an alley. 

Sydney set her jaw and tried not to get angry. Her recent turnaround in life came with a set of rules she established for herself: one of them being to always help those who needed it. But damn if this cat wasn’t fickle. Tucking her bag higher over her shoulder, she slowly unwound her scarf and followed the creature, intent on wrapping it up and hiking herself over to the vet clinic a twenty minute walk away. The cat ducked deeper into the winding dark alley and she doggedly followed, clicking her tongue and making kitty-calling noises. 

She went around another small corner and stood up straight with a mortified gasp. Two bodies were pressed together up against the nearby brick wall, half hidden in shadow.  _ Oh my god,  _ Sydney thought,  _ I've just walked in on a very secret makeout spot. _

“I am  _ so _ sorry, I was just following a stray, but I can see that… you’re…” Sydney blabbed and backtracked awkwardly.  __ She slowed, however, when she got a solid lock on one of the person’s faces. It was a man’s face, pointed towards her. What she originally thought was a look of surprise… wasn’t. His jaw hung open slackly, his eyes glassy. Unseeing. 

Sydney instantly got the feeling that something was very, very wrong. 

The person that was pressing the other man up against the wall turned their head with a painful slowness, giving Sydney’s body enough time to fill her veins with adrenaline at the suddenly overwhelming sense of wrongness. 

In the half-light of the alleyway Sydney saw Dorian, his lips dripping ruby-red with blood. 

Sydney opened her mouth to let loose a scream. 

“No!” Dorian said hoarsely. He released the man from the wall, who crumpled to the ground, and launched himself at Sydney. It was like being hit by a car. She was slammed to the ground, the wind knocked out of her. Sydney fought wildly, eyes wide and panicked. Dorian clapped a hand over her mouth just in time to muffle a blood curdling cry. 

“Please– Sydney, please, I can explain– can you just– please stop screaming!” Dorian was hissing into her ear with a desperate voice. Sydney fought harder: Christ, she could smell the tang of iron coming from his mouth.  _ He killed someone. Oh my god, he killed someone.  _ Sydney screamed even harder into his hand, thrashing with all her might. Any and all ideas she had in her mind about Dorian being kind, being altruistic: they evaporated immediately.

With a sigh Dorian looked up at the sky, squeezing his eyes shut at the incredible lousiness of the situation. With a look of resignation he used his free hand to pinch her nose shut. 

“I am  _ so  _ sorry about this.” He said through gritted teeth as she tried to push him away. 

Sydney fought with every ounce of her strength but the world was blurring, fraying around her. Finally her last bit of oxygen faded from her lungs, and she passed out, eyes fluttering into a swirl of darkness that washed over her. 


	3. Chapter 3

The world, when coming out of sleep, is always blurry and confusing. It’s even more blurry and confusing, Sydney discovered, when you’re coming out of a forcibly-induced state of unconsciousness. Her vision swam as she sluggishly sat up, blinking and disoriented. 

_ Where am I? What am I doing here?  _ God, her head hurt. She clutched her temples and winced before rubbing at her eyes. The swirling colors before her solidified, taking shape. She was lying face-up on a long couch she did not recognize, in a bright room she also did not recognize. Across from her, separated by a low glass coffee table, was Dorian. Balancing on the balls of his feet on a chair, hands clasped in front of his mouth and looking intently in her direction with wide, apprehensive eyes. Waiting for her to wake up.

Before she could form a coherent thought Sydney let out a noise of horror and scrambled over the back of the couch like the world’s drunkest gymnast, nearly falling over in her effort to put some more distance between her and a killer. Dorian let out a muffled utterance of dismay and hopped off the chair, putting his hands up. “Wait.” He said, “Before you freak out, let me just–”

Sydney got her hands on a nearby shelf of very heavy decorative metal sculptures and lobbed one in Dorian’s direction. 

He ducked and it went sailing over his head, cracking the drywall behind him. “Jesus! Sydney, please, can you just stop for a second so I can explain what I–”

Sydney threw a second one. Dorian was too busy looking at the massive dent in his wall to see it coming, and turned around just in time to get brained upside the head with a high-velocity brass deer. It made an audible cracking sound when it came in contact with his skull, and he dropped like a rock, a visibly bloodied concave indent on his forehead. Sydney gasped and froze. Anyone with basic understanding of the human body knew that was a killing blow. When he didn’t move again, Sydney made for the nearby door on shaky legs.

Right before she reached for the handle, Dorian pulled himself up off the floor with a groan of frustration and odd sort of fluidity Sydney hadn’t seen him use before. He wiped the blood off his head with the back of his hand; once it was gone, there was no sign he had been fatally injured with a sculpture in the first place. 

“What the...?” Sydney said breathlessly, taking a shaky step backwards. 

“Hope you’ve gotten that out of your system.” Dorian remarked, having the gall to sound mildly offended by her actions. “Can I talk now?”

Sydney was still holding a fresh brass sculpture in her hand, ready to launch it. But seeing as how the last one hit its mark and didn’t do much good, she opted to slowly nod instead. 

“Okay.” He ran a hand through his hair, gathering his thoughts. “You’re in my apartment. I brought you here after you caught me in a… delicate situation.”

The brass bust in Sydney’s had got gripped a little tighter. “D– _ delicate _ ?! Jesus _ ,  _ Dorian, you  _ killed  _ that guy!” 

Dorian winced and cast his eyes downwards, losing a bit of his composure. “Yeah.” He said. “I did. But I had good reason to. In fact, I  _ had  _ to. If I don’t eat I’ll die.” 

Sydney felt like her voice was going up an octave with each confusing sentence that came out of Dorian’s mouth. “What do you mean, eat?!” 

“Put two and two together!” Dorian shot back, gesturing to the speckle of dried blood on his lapel. When Sydney didn’t respond he dragged his hand down his face in exasperation. “Jesus, Sydney. I’m a vampire!” To prove his point before she could protest it, Dorian lifted his upper lip with his finger. Sydney watched in complete horror as two short yet wicked looking fangs shunted themselves out of his upper gums, sliding over his regular teeth. They retracted as he lowered his lip. “To be fair,” He continued, wiping saliva off his fingers, “You  _ also  _ just saw me walk away from a bashed-in skull. The evidence is fairly damning.” 

“I don’t…” Sydney started, lowering the brass weapon and staring blankly at the man across from her. “That can’t be… that’s not real. That’s.. That’s made up, fairytale stuff. Superstitions to cover up plague and porphyria. It’s- it’s  _ television bullshit. _ ” She grew quiet, eyes as wide as saucers. His wicked strength made sense now. But Dorian... Dorian  _ killed  _ someone, she saw it. So why had he helped her? Saved her life when she was the very thing he consumed without prejudice? Sydney snapped her head up, locking accusing eyes with the vampire across the room. 

“Why did you help me?” She asked. 

Dorian blinked. “What?”

“I said,  _ why  _ did you help me? Why didn’t you just let me die? Actually- why didn’t you  _ murder  _ me?” 

The vampire looked a little thrown. “Well. You were a good person and you were in trouble. I like you.” 

Sydney took another step backwards and gave a scoff of disbelief. “So that’s it?  _ That’s  _ your arbitrary metric of who lives and who dies? Who you  _ like _ ?” 

“No! God, of course not! I– Sydney, you have to believe me. I only hurt bad people! That guy, he– he sold drugs to teens to get them hooked! See?  _ Bad guy! _ ” 

“I could be bad!” Sydney gestured angrily to herself. “What if I was a horrible person? Would you kill me, Dorian? Would you actually kill me? Because deciding the value of a  _ life  _ based on your own ideas of goodness and badness is  _ really messed up _ .” 

“What am I supposed to do, then, Sydney? Tell me! Not feed myself? Just let myself die, a slow suicide?” 

“You’re not supposed to  _ kill people,  _ that’s for damn sure!” 

Dorian looked like he was just about ready to punch through a wall out of equal parts distress and frustration. He linked his hands and pressed them to the back of his head, taking a slow, measured breath and walking in a frustrated circle around the house’s ornate living room. When he returned he looked considerably less angry.

“Okay.” He breathed. “Okay. I get it. You’re upset and you have every right to be. You shouldn’t have been dragged into this mess in the first place.” He took another deep breath, closing his eyes for a few seconds. “I don’t have any other choice, Sydney. This is how I survive. Now. I can’t have you running around out in the streets ringing the church bells and screaming vampire, and you– very obviously– can’t have me killing off the scum of humanity even if they  _ are _ living breathing garbage people. So where does that leave us?” 

Sydney bit her cheek and let out a slow, measured sigh. They really were at an impasse. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” 

The room fell quiet for a painfully long period. 

“I hoped you would call. Did you know that?” Dorian said quietly. 

“...What?” 

“Nothing, I just.” He played with the hem of the throw blanket that was tossed over the back of a nearby chair. “I just wanted to see you again. It’s stupid, I know. That was stupid. I pulled you out of a bad spot, did something anyone should be responsible to do as their duty. It doesn’t entitle me to a date.” 

Sydney clutched her head. “Oh my god, could you  _ be  _ any more of an emotional rollercoaster?” She set down the bronze statuette and muttered that she needed a drink under her breath. There was a flutter of fabric to her left, and Dorian was gone. An unmistakable sound of a cork popping echoed through the spacious apartment, and Dorian rounded the corner moments later with two tall glasses of dark wine. 

“I’m glad to have someone over to finally share this with.” He admitted, tentatively extending a glass. “Nobody else I know drinks red.” He froze, mouth open when he realized what he said. Sydney couldn’t help but tersely smile almost disbelievingly at the sight of a legendary supernatural myth tripping over his own words like a nervous highschooler on his first date.

They ended up sitting opposite one another on the cool floor in front of Dorian’s apartment windows. It was on the first-floor with a beautiful view of the city and surrounding ocean. Cars and people passed them by, oblivious to the life-changing drama that was unfolding within. It was strange to see the early morning light and know that a whole night had passed them by, a good chunk of it missing for one of them. 

Sydney swirled the wine inside the glass, holding it up to the light. It was a paler red than she usually drank: but then again she was more of a bourbon person. “This is... good.” She said after a few minutes of them sipping in extraordinarily uncomfortable silence. She was thankful Dorian was self-aware enough to keep his distance: she wasn’t currently very  _ okay  _ with sitting next to someone who had taken a human life.

“I’m glad you like it. It’s insanely vintage. My family just holds onto bottles and then forgets about them.”

“I figured that’s how you got it. It doesn’t smell like a cheap ten-buck wine. What is this? 1940s? 1950s?” Sydney held the glass up to her nose once more and took a careful sip. “It’s good. Silky. It’s oddly festive, though. Lots of clove and cranberry.” 

Dorian pulled his head back a little, a bit stunned. One of his dark brows arched. “Hope this doesn’t sound rude, but you don’t strike me as a wine person.” 

“Oh I’m not.” Sydney replied before polishing off her drink. “My mom was a sommelier. I’ve been her second opinion since I was ten. At least, until I moved out.” 

“Well. Regardless, you hit the nail on the head. It’s a holiday batch from Germany, 1958.” Dorian caught up with her, downing all his wine in one go. It was clear he was used to drinking booze that was not to be sipped, but chugged. 

Sydney set her glass down, opting to look out the window instead of at Dorian’s laser-like gaze. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. That whole impasse we came to. You can’t have me blabbing about bloodsuckers, I can’t have you… taking lives to survive. And I think I have a solution for that.” 

He raised his glass. “Do tell.”

“I have a friend who works in a hospital. Well, a morgue. I think with a little convincing I could get him to steal a few bags of transfusion blood a month. If you live on that, I swear on my own mother that I’ll keep your secret.” 

Dorian nodded, worrying his lip with immaculate teeth. “That could work. Theoretically. I mean, I’ve tried to steal from the Red Cross in the past, but you can only sneak into a facility so many times before you’re being shoved into the back of a police car. But if your friend is ridiculously careful, maybe your plan has a shot. I’d only need about two bags, four times a year. A little over a pint each time.” 

“Really? That little?”

“Well, it’s lowballing it for sure. I’d probably be grouchy most of the time, but taking more than that would just be  _ overtly  _ suspicious. A few pints a year is survivable, but not comfortable. Trust me when I say that I am capable of eating a  _ lot  _ more than that in one go.” He looked up sharply from his wineglass. “If I was on that low of a dose, I probably wouldn’t be able to be around you. Or anybody, really. Too… uh, tantalizing.” 

Sydney was tempted to ask what he specifically meant by that, but swallowed the question and looked away. She was going to explode from all the macabre and angry queries she had for him. But it was more important that he agreed to this ridiculously half-baked plan of hers first: it wasn’t every day that you got to convince a killer to be less murdery. 

Dorian rolled his eyes, lip pulling into a smirk. “I can practically hear your questions popping out of you. Go ahead. Play vampire twenty questions.” 

“If you go out into the sun do you  _ actually  _ explode into flames?” Sydney blurted out. 

“Pfft, no. That’s an old wife's tale made up thousands of years ago. Makes people feel safer going about their day.” 

“What about garlic? Holy water? Crucifixes?” 

“No, no, and my sister is Christian so that’s gonna be a hard no.” 

“Wait, sister? Oh, yeah, right, your ‘massive amount’ of siblings... are they all vampires too?” 

That question made Dorian massage his temple. Clearly it was a sore subject. “Yeah, they are. So are my parents– not my  _ parents  _ parents from Greece. They’re my blood-parents. Okay, well, we’re not blood related: at least not a genetic way. Jesus, this is confusing to explain to an outsider. Anyways, there are only eight of us.” 

“Wow. Eight vampires.” Sydney bit the inside of her cheek in contemplation. “How many are there in the whole world?” When he hesitated, she narrowed her eyes. “Come on. You owe me answers to literally  _ any  _ question I ask.”

Dorian sighed. “Not many, compared to the billions of humans. I’d say six, seven thousand? We have a pretty, uh… low early survival rate.” 

“What do you mean? Is it like the movies? Dozens of bloodthirsty baby vampires tearing each other apart, survival of the fittest?” 

Dorian took a moment to go refill his wine glass and take a  _ long  _ drink from it. “Much less dramatic. The process to create a new vampire is ugly. It involves a lot of blood for transfusing and up to four entire weeks of feeling like you’re got the worst flu in the world: fevers, vomiting, hallucinations. Only about one in ten people actually make it to the other side as a full-fledged vampire. The rest die.” 

“But you didn’t.” 

“Yeah, well. I had my blood-parents there to keep my temperature down and make sure I didn’t do anything stupid in my fevered state.” He hummed, lost in thought. “Good old 1941. I think it was in October? All I really know for sure is that it was a few weeks after my twenty-fourth birthday. Can’t remember it that well: my human memories are always pretty fuzzy.” 

His answer gave Sydney pause. She looked at him intently, scrutinizing his face. Dorian could only take so much of her intense wordless gaze. 

“Is something… the matter? Aside from the obvious?” 

“No. I’m just thinking about how lonely that must be. Pulled away from life as you know it, life as  _ everyone  _ knows it. And sure, you have your family, but… everything else withers away, decays. All your old friends are dead now, and it’s just going to keep happening.” Did she feel bad for him? Really? “I’m sorry.”

Her statement pulled the air from Dorian’s lungs. He tried to give her a placid smile in response, but it was weak, faltering. For a few moments Sydney could see without any sort of shielding the overt and unique brand of pain that comes with immortality. Sitting in front of her was a man with a combined age of just barely 100 years old: but he would never know the wrinkling of his own hands as he aged, or the wisdom that comes with an eldery mind. He was paralyzed in time. A fragment of a bygone era. A ghost.

She could sense how her keen statement made his words catch in his throat, so she moved to change the subject, feeling uncomfortable. Her newfound therapy skills helped her see the good in every situation, true, but it also made her see that bad. She shouldn’t have shared her findings. “So, if you’re dead, how come you look so alive? You look more real than the students I used to go to college with. But that’s not saying a lot: I think during my first two years I survived on energy drinks and pixy stix. ” 

Dorian grabbed the topic change like a lifeline. “Well, we couldn’t very well go running around looking like pale corpses, could we? That would be horrifying: who would be fooled by a bloodless, sinister looking caricature of a vampire?”

“Literally anyone who doesn’t live in the south?” Sydney joked half-heartedly. “Put yourself in Portland: everyone there is so pale they practically glow in the dark.”

Dorian laughed. “Funny. I wish it were that easy, but no. Our biology runs by the rule that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. That’s why I’m graced with this  _ glowing  _ complexion you see before you. Very human, isn’t it?” He ran a thumb across his cheek with a wry smile, jokingly gloating about his vibrant beauty and healthy flush. Beneath the display of preening lurked a distant sort of sorrow. “Here, feel my hand.” He extended his arm towards the woman before him. 

Sydney carefully laid her hand atop his skin, keenly aware that this was the same man who could lift his own weight with one arm and was plenty capable of murder. Their skin made contact. Sydney frowned. His body was by all means normal. But the longer she kept in contact with him, the odder it felt: a strangeness she couldn’t place. Finally it clicked. There was  _ no heat  _ emanating from his body at all. He was exactly and precisely room temperature. Sydney bet herself twenty dollars that that was true for the rest of his body: she assumed that, being dead, he didn’t have the same internal heating system humanity did. She slapped her free hand onto Dorian’s neck impulsively, seeking heat from the blood vessels there. She found none, yet she still found a heartbeat.  _ Now that is odd _ , she thought to herself. Her old general biology courses from university were coming back with a vengeance.  _ A functioning cardiopulmonary system in a corpse? What’s the point _ ?

To his credit, Dorian did his very best not to look alarmed, and remained still even as Sydney leaned in close to him. She shook her head as if deep in thought, then caught his eye. She blanched and shuffled backwards, suddenly remembering her current predicament.

“Sorry.” She said stiffly. “I wanted to see if I was right. Why... do you have a heartbeat?” 

Dorian shrugged and self-consciously tugged his collar up a little higher. “It’s an empty function. I could get my heart cut out and still be fine. I mean, it would probably grow back anyways. I dunno, maybe it’s because it makes humans more comfortable around you: even if you don’t notice it, someone without a pulse and breathing pattern is going to unsettle you.” 

Sydney thought about the logistics of that with a furrowed brow. It’s not like vampirism was  _ designed _ , right? All the pop culture myths she had grown up with said it was more of a magical mambo-jumbo curse. She opened her mouth to respond, but stopped when Dorian’s eyes grew wide and his head whipped sideways to face the apartment door. A stillness, like a bobcat locking onto a deer, settled into his body. 

“There’s someone here. Someone like me, I think.” 

Before she even knew what was happening Sydney was being escorted towards a small door. Dorian flung it open: it was a tiny coat closet. 

“Get in.” He said tersely. 

The doorbell rang and Sydney looked at him in complete and utter bafflement. “What are you–” 

“ _ Please  _ just get inside, Sydney. You’re not supposed to be here. I’m  _ not supposed  _ to be with you.”

Sydney ground her teeth but nodded, wading into the various faux fur coats and sports jackets as Dorian shut the door behind her. She had to crouch to avoid the coat hanger pole and there was barely enough room to stand, but that wasn’t what was on the forefront of her mind right then. She tracked Dorian’s footsteps as he crossed to the door, thoughts racing. What did he mean, he wasn't supposed to be with her? Seconds before he answered the doorbell she remembered how he had heard the approaching footsteps of another person through a wall. It was only fair to assume that other vampires had the same sensitive hearing. Sydney clapped a hand over her mouth in a futile attempt to muffle her breathing. 

The door opened. “Hermela!” Dorian said with delight. “How is my favorite sister on this fine day?” 

“You sound a bit peaky, Dorian.” A woman drawled. Her voice was rich but clipped and careful, like a very well-studied professor. Sydney heard high-heeled footfalls slowly enter the room, and pressed herself closer to the wall behind her.

“Are you alright?” The voice continued. “You know Mother and Father have our tickets booked for the assembly in Korea tomorrow, correct? You never showed up at the manor so I was sent to get you: the last person who showed up late to one of Mother’s trips had their head ripped off. You know Hakim barely survived that; we were lucky there was a tourist nearby for him to drain once his skull was reattached.” 

Sydney blanched at the casual nature of the violence in the sentence.

“Mmm. I've been busy.” She heard Dorian reply. “A new club opened up down by the wharf: I was there all night.” 

Hermela gave a low laugh, her footsteps crossing towards the couches near the windows. “You and your fascinations,” She said, amused, “I’ll never understand the kick you get hanging around with your… food…” Her footsteps slowed to a stop directly in front of the closet Sydney was hunkered in. Her heartbeat kicked into high gear and she silently cursed her body’s extremely accurate and understandable fear response. 

“Dorian.” Hermela’s voice was slow, tactful, and just outside of the door. Her shadow could be seen under the door gap. “Why is there a human inside of your coat closet?” 

Dorian gave a strained laugh nearby. “Schrodinger’s human, right? Might be in there. Might not be. You don’t have to know if you don’t open the door.” His joke fell flat in the silent apartment, his sister refusing to take the bait and diffuse the situation. Sydney wanted to hit her head against something in panicked exasperation, but that would make too much noise. 

“Dorian. If I open this door and there is a live human in front of me we’re going to have a problem.” With that Hermela threw open the closet with such force that Sydney lost her balance and came tumbling out of the various jackets, landing hard on her knees on the floor with a pained grunt. She looked up slowly at the woman before her, heart in her throat. 

Hermela glared right back down at her like she had just discovered a particularly nasty infestation of cockroaches. She was a dark-skinned woman with a flawless complexion and long, thick box braids, dressed in an open suit and graceful heels. Her ears, neck, and wrists were decorated in fine golden filigree jewelry: altogether she struck a stunning sight. Hermela turned to Dorian with the exasperated look of a tired sibling. It would have almost been funny if Dorian didn’t look absolutely petrified. 

“Herms, please.” He whispered hoarsely. 

His sister gave him a pitying look. “I’m sorry, Dorian. I know this is a hobby of yours. But it’s heard too much. I’ll put it out of its misery.” Before Sydney could roll out of the way Hermela was lifting one stilettoed foot, the dangerously thin heel poised to go straight through her eye and into her skull. 

Sydney swore, but was so terrified it didn’t reach her lips.

“No!” Dorian shouted. He grabbed Hermela by the shoulder and pulled her backwards. She was dragged a few feet back across the floor, footwear screaming against the hardwood.

“ _ What  _ do you think you are  _ doing _ , Dorian?” She hissed venomously. “This isn’t funny anymore.” 

“It was  _ never meant  _ to be funny!” Dorian spat back. He scrambled between Sydney and his older sister, making them all keenly aware just how small he looked compared to the stilettoed woman. “I  _ like  _ her! Please don’t… please just stop diminishing them. You know I can’t stand it.”

Hemela gave Dorian a hard glare for several seconds before huffing and resting her hand on her hip. She wrestled with her decision for a moment. “Mother is going to be pissed.” She said. “You’ve spent too much time by yourself out here, you know that? You’ve gone native, forgotten your roots. But,” She sighed and shook her head, “You’re still my little brother. I can’t bring myself to hurt you. Come on. I’m taking you home.” Hermela paused to stare down at Sydney. She hadn’t moved from her crouching position on the floor on the off-chance that the woman in front of her decided to try and skewer her again. “And we’re bringing your pet with us. Mother will decide what to do with it.” 

“Yeah, no. ‘It’ would like to go home now, please.” Sydney said weakly. 

Hermela ignored her like she wasn’t even there and stalked towards the door, swinging her car keys around her finger. “I’ll meet you at the car in a few minutes.” She called to Dorian over her shoulder. “Don’t make me wait. I  _ will  _ carry you out of this house like a giant man-baby if I have to.” The front door slammed behind her. 

As soon as she was gone Dorian was helping Sydney to her feet, blabbering a thousand apologies. Sydney heard none of them, reeling from the events of the past few minutes. The way Dorian’s sister treated her with such inhuman indifference towards her life or death was like a cold bucket of water to the face. This was not a fantasy book of old-timey vampires who moped in castles and played romantic ballads on medieval instruments. These were real, dangerous predators that were  _ perfectly  _ well-adjusted to the modern age. And Dorian might very well be the only one with any empathy for her right now. 

“...I’m not going with you. You have to get me out of here right now.” She said faintly, looking up at Dorian. 

He looked heartbroken at her question. “I… Sydney, I don’t have a choice. There’s a lot I can get away with, living so far from my family. But I can’t disobey a direct order from the matriarch. And Hermela is a  _ lot  _ stronger than me: if I tried to run, she’d kill us both.” He began to hustle around his apartment, packing up things and throwing them in a suitcase. Spare shirts, unopened toothpaste, a packaged toothbrush. He held up a pair of sweatpants to Sydney to judge if they’d fit, then threw them on top of the pile. “We’re going to my family’s land in Santa Cruz. It’s about an hour’s drive so it shouldn’t be that hard. I–  _ damn _ .” Dorian swore, pressing his hands against either side of the suitcase on the table, hanging his head, overwhelmed. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into this. I really– I like you. I don’t want you to go through this.” 

“You make it sound like I’m marching to my death.” 

Dorian’s silence was telling. 

“Oh.” Sydney replied, distantly aware that she had already entered the disconnected, floating state of mental dissociation. She pulled out her phone: she could call the police right now. But what would be the point? If Hermela could hear them both right now, and she bet she could, she’d be dead before she could even hang up. “I’m going to call my neighbor and tell her to water my plants.”

Dorian narrowed his eyes in visible confusion, looking more and more worried when he saw her distant, blank expression. “I just told you we’re going to a villa full of monsters who view you as a portable juice box. Why are you so calm?” 

“Oh, I’m not calm.” Sydney said. “I’m a solid ten seconds away from having a full-blown panic attack. But since your sister said we have to be out of the car in a few minutes I figured we should probably focus on doing that so she doesn’t have another excuse to snap me in half like a pretzel rod.” 

Dorian looked alarmed and unsettled, but agreed nonetheless. He ran around the apartment like a madman, occasionally stopping to ask Sydney questions like ‘how much toothpaste do humans need per day’ or ‘if he should bring a pillow because he remembers that sleep is important to mortals’. He seemed to be taking temporary solace in distracting himself. Sydney didn’t have that luxury.

“Wait.” Sydney pulled up short as they were exiting the apartment. “I had my medication on me. Is it here? Because there’s not a chance in hell I’m gonna go through withdrawal AND abduction on the same day.”

Dorian shook the suitcase and the pill bottle inside it rattled faintly. Sydney nodded and they headed out into the bright light of the autumn morning. She was slow, taking in her surroundings: they were up in Pacific Heights. The wealth around them practically glittered in the form of trimmed hedges, clean streets, and multi-million dollar houses. 

Someone down the street whistled to them both: Hermela was leaning against the side of her red BMW that somehow managed to perfectly match her shade of crimson lipstick. She opened the trunk and let Dorian slide his luggage into it. Sydney was struck by the sight of the two of them when they stood together: now that she wasn’t moments from death, seeing two vampires standing so close was eerily unsettling. It was an unplacable feeling she couldn’t quite put her finger on. They looked  _ too _ vibrant,  _ too  _ alive. Like a heavily photoshopped magazine advertisement for anti-aging cream. The illusion of normalcy began to break when there was more than one of them: they felt less alluring, and more predatory. 

Hermela and Dorian slid into the front two seats of the car as Sydney slunk into the back, trying to hide the way her body was already beginning to vibrate as the level of shock and panic she felt overrode her floating dissociation. She could tell herself that she could handle this all she wanted, but her hands shook in a way that she couldn’t lie to herself about. 

The inside of the BMW was immaculate, like it had never been lived in, save for the few tchotchkes and tokens here and there. A distinctly 80s-looking dashboard hula woman was placed right on top of the radio, and a row of unpaid speeding tickets was neatly displayed in a line next to the cupholder. Dorian held one up to his sister as she put the car into drive, looking distinctly unimpressed. 

“What?” She said as the car started to rumble down the hill. “Everyone has vices. Mine just happens to be slightly illegal, and very fast.” 


	4. Chapter 4

The drive was excruciatingly long and silent. Hermela and Dorian could never seem to settle on a station they agreed on, so despite turning the radio on every twenty minutes or so, it always got shut off a few moments later. Sydney watched with a black pit of dread in her stomach as the city she was raised in whizzed by, stoplight after stoplight, until the terrain became less familiar and then unknown. It was funny… the people standing on the sidewalk, waiting for the light to change, had no idea what was going on in her life. It made her think about how many times she may have passed someone on the street, not knowing they were about to die.

Dorian wouldn’t stop turning around and asking if Sydney was comfortable. “Is it too warm? Too cold? It’s 60 degrees outside, do you need a blanket?” His endless fussy questions he hurled at her just for the sake of something to do were driving her up the wall. 

“I’m fine, Dorian. Fine with a capital F.” Sydney bit out. “Believe me, if something’s somehow  _ more wrong  _ then everything right now, I’ll tell you.” She turned towards the window, wrapping her arms tightly around herself and trying to zone out and focus on the Californian seaside to the side of the road. Actively thinking about what was happening to her scared her too much.

About forty minutes into their terse and silent drive, Dorian asked his sister to pull over and find them a bathroom. Sydney frowned. “Dorian, seriously. I’m fine.”

He shrugged sheepishly. “This isn’t for you. This is for me. I was drinking wine, remember?” He opened up the door as Hermela screeched to a halt outside of a gas station and hustled into the building. 

Sydney watched him go, visibly confused. “What does that even  _ mean _ ?” She said aloud. She didn’t bother directing her question at Hermela: she knew she’d probably ignore her like always. So it caught her off-guard when Hermela chuckled, fingernails tapping against the steering wheel. 

“We don’t do human food.” She explained. “It goes out looking the same way it comes in: we just don’t digest it.” She snorted and looked down at her lap with a smile. “I remember the first time Dorian learned that little fact. He’d been downing entire bottles of wine, not drunk on the beverage, but the intoxicating fact that now he could win any drinking contest with any human that challenged him. He came out of that bathroom  _ screaming  _ bloody murder. Nobody told him that was going to happen.” 

“Oh.” Sydney said numbly. She didn’t really want to try and continue a conversation with the woman who had just attempted to brain her with fashionable footwear less than an hour ago. 

Dorian came back with a plastic bag full of snack foods for Sydney, mentioning how he remembered that she hadn’t had anything to eat since the night before. Sydney took one look at the bright blue and orange bag of cheese puffs and her stomach twisted with a hunger that had been overridden by fear until now. She tore into the food, pointedly ignoring how painfully awkward it was to be filling the car with the distinctly human sounds of eating. 

“If you get any of that on my car I'll wring your neck before Mother gets a chance to.” Hermela growled out as Sydney popped open a bag of Doritos. 

“Herms!” Dorian said angrily.

“It’s  _ new pleather _ ! Besides, you shouldn’t have bought all that junk. Plastic is bad for the ocean.” She protested. 

“She was hungry. What was I gonna do, let her starve?”

As it turned out, maybe Sydney should have gone with her initial gut instinct and held off on the food until she was in less of a full-on panic mode, because ten minutes after she had finished eating Hermela was pulling off to the side of the road so Sydney could puke her guts out into the bushes. 

Dorian stood nearby, facing away and looking awkward. He handed her a bottle of water once she stumbled back over to him and she twisted the cap off, rinsing and spitting. Sydney looked up at him; it was strange seeing his face pulled into such a nervous expression, yet still looking flawlessly unaffected by the strain of sleeplessness or stress.

“Dorian.” Sydney said quietly, pushing aside another rolling wave of nausea. “I want you to know that I am really,  _ genuinely _ scared right now.” 

“I know it’s probably  _ less  _ comforting to hear this coming from me, but... I’m scared too.” Dorian replied. “If we’re coming clean… I haven't seen my blood mother in a few decades. We had a falling-out in the nineties and I haven’t talked to her since. We’re only coming back together now for the assembly.” A car whizzed by them on the arid road, ruffling his hair. He tucked a stray curl back behind his ear. 

“I keep hearing that word thrown around.” Sydney said, shielding her eyes from the mid-day sun with her hand. “What is it? And why is it in Korea?” 

Dorian glanced back at Hermela’s red car a dozen feet away. She could probably hear them both no matter how quietly they spoke. “It’s not  _ in  _ Korea, exactly. The Red Assembly is… vampiric government, I guess? We call it a democrativ council. They make all our decisions through societal votes. The next election takes place a few days from now, in Seoul: It’s going to be a total nightmare to attend.”

“How are people  _ not  _ going to stare at thousands of vampires flocking together? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but even just you and your sister together tend to turn heads. Seems risky.” The new fascinating topic worked wonders to keep the shakes at bay.

“We’re good at keeping separate until we can assemble in private. If we just decided to rent a bingo hall in Texas there’d be chaos. A  _ lot  _ of money goes into locational privacy.” Dorian’s brow furrowed. “Why do you ask?” 

Sydney sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Nothing. It’s stupid.” 

“Well, now I  _ gotta  _ know.” 

Sydney sighed and ground her shoe into sandy dirt, mentally kicking herself for bringing the topic up. “Well, you’re going to be attending, right? I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to be lynched at the hands of an angry, pitchfork-wielding mob. Or staked, or something: if your  _ sister  _ is this angry at you for… saving my life, I can’t imagine how others will act. And it would be a shame for the world to lose its only kind-of-decent vampire.” 

Dorian’s mouth split into a blinding lopsided grin. “Aww. You’re  _ worried  _ about m–” He was interrupted by a loud, obnoxious honk from Hermela’s car. Sydney could barely make out her glaring at them from behind her tinted windshield. 

When they got back in the car they found her relaxing with her chair pulled back, some sort of synth-jazz mix playing from her bluetooth-connected car speakers. She opened one eye to glare at her brother as he shut the door behind him. “Done sharing our carefully-guarded secrets with the human, are you? Then let’s be off.” Dorian couldn’t get a word in before she was stepping on the gas, car screeching back into the road in a cloud of dust. 

Sydney wished they had stayed back at the side stop.

* * *

“There it is.” Dorian pointed to a mansion up on a sloping hill a ways away. It was surrounded by several smaller buildings and was clearly a part of a larger property. “Ashdown fortress. Home of creatures of the night.” 

Hermela scoffed. “You’re the only creature of the night here, Dorian. I leave my productivity to be done in the daytime, thank you very much.” 

“Ah, I forgot.” Dorian wrinkled his nose in disdain and turned around to stage whisper to Sydney. “Hermela sleeps at night. Entirely optional and completely useless, but she gets a kick out of it. Says it regulates her.”

“I’d say I agree with her, but I think we might be talking about two very different types of regulation.” Sydney said in a thin, brittle tone. As soon as Dorian had pointed out the mansion on the seaside hill her palms had become slick with sweat, her heart racing. A house full of vampires, all of which were equally– if not more so– inclined to put her down like a sick dog. As far as they were concerned, their son was doing the human equivalent of holding a conversation with cooked rotisserie chicken.  _ The books always make it seem more romantic than this _ . Sydney thought miserably.  _ Hot vampire guy sweeps a dashing girl off her feet and takes her away to his private island where they have many adorable babies, and his undead parents don’t try to murder the bride.  _ She took another long drink from her water, trying to stave off some of the encroaching nausea. 

The car rolled through a small forest of oak trees and stopped at a wrought-iron gate, the only gap in a high stone wall that encircled the mansion. Hermela rolled down her window and pressed the button below a speaker.

It crackled to life after a few seconds. “Yeah? What?” A man’s grumpy voice came from the other end. 

“Lighten up Lysander, you grump. It’s your sister.”

“Great. Delightful.” The man replied gruffly. “So you’ve brought Dorian, then?”

“And dinner, to boot.”

“I don’t care.” The gate began to rattle open. “I’m in the middle of training. Don’t bother me.” the intercom clicked off and Hermela rolled her window back up. 

Sydney resisted the urge to curl in on herself as the car glided down the smooth cobblestone lane, passing trimmed shrub after trimmed shrub. The street opened up into a wide roundabout courtyard in front of the three-story mansion. It was a stunning building, to be sure: with its warm tiled rooftops, manilla adobe walls, and decorative window sills, it was clearly inspired by Spanish colonial-era architecture. A large fountain sat in the center of the drive depicting a trio of mermaids spilling water into a pool from ornate shells. Hermela parked the car behind two others and was out before Sydney or Dorian could say anything. 

Dorian held the bulky piece of luggage under one arm without any show of discomfort. He and Sydney slowly ascended the many wide stairs up to the carved wooden double doors of the house. Dorian stopped right before opening them up, turning to Sydney. “Are you ready?” He asked. 

“Is it too late to hotwire your sister’s car and beat a quick retreat?” Sydney joked, the waver in her voice taking all the humor out of the quip. 

Dorian gave her a tight, broken smile anyways. “I’ll try my damnedest to make sure you get out of here. You know that, right?” 

Sydney  _ did  _ know that. She didn’t know how and she didn’t know why, but for some reason she was sure that Dorian’s intentions were honest. He was actually on her side, despite his inhumanity. “I know.” 

Then Dorian was pushing open the double doors and they passed the point of no return. Sydney stepped into the gigantic home and her jaw dropped. The place was spacious, clean, and tastefully organized for sure. But it was also filled wall to wall with stuff.  _ Makes sense,  _ Sydney thought in fearful awe,  _ if you’re alive for hundreds of years you have a lot of free time to build up a collection _ . There were careful displays of ornate tribal masks on the walls. Ships and depictions of far-off lands carved from swaths of jade sat on tables. The skeleton of a sabretooth, poised to strike, took up a whole corner for itself. All this was only a fraction of the first few things Sydney took in.

New-agey music filtered into the main hall from an unsourceable place in the house, but was quickly dominated by the echoing footfalls of Dorian’s and Sydney’s approach. 

Dorian set the luggage down by an embroidered ottoman that housed a taxidermized Siamese cat. He stood there silently, as if hoping against hope that his arrival would go unnoticed. 

Moments later a small woman, only about five feet tall, came gliding down the marble steps. She has a face that was very distinctly not of this age, with features Sydney expected to see on a proud archeologist’s digital reconstruction of a skeleton they unearthed. She wore her light brown hair in a loose bun by the nape of her neck and sported a soft, creamy shawl around her shoulders. Smoothed piece of citrine dangled from her ears. “My darling Dorian.” She in a voice like honey and silk, lips curling into a smile. “It’s been too long.” 

She pulled him into an embrace, Dorian having to hunker down to her level to get his arms under hers. Sydney was bowled over.  _ This  _ was Mother? The woman that even Hermela, the strongest woman Sydney had ever met, had a fearful respect for? 

Dorian’s mother put her smooth hands on his cheeks, fixated on her son and ignoring Sydney completely, like she was just another piece of luggage he had brought in. “It is so good to have you home, angel.” 

Dorian gave her a weak smile and blindly reached for Sydney, pulling her forward. “Mother,” he said, “I want you to meet someone. This is Sydney. Sydney, this is Godyth Ashdown: blood-mother to me and almost everyone else in this family.” 

“It’s an honor to meet you, Ms. Ashdown.” Sydney’s voice sounded squeaky even to herself. Her hand shook as she held it out. Godyth looked at the outstretched hand with a crestfallen expression, continuing to ignore Sydney and gazing at Dorian with a look of utter disappointment. 

“Ah, yes. Hermela called ahead and let me know. Sweetheart.” She said gently, as if she were trying to correct a lost child, “I thought you’d outgrown this. I am very understanding of your hobby of immersing yourself in humanity, but this has gone far enough, don’t you think? Bringing one into our home, parading it around like it’s your friend?”

Dorian’s expression grew thunderous, and it was immediately clear to Sydney that their last familial fallout was about this exact same topic. Something about seeing Dorian look so hurt, so  _ upset _ at the hands of his mother gave Sydney courage she otherwise would have never been able to find. 

Sydney physically stepped into Godyth’s sightlines, between her and her son. “Actually, Ms. Ashdown,” Sydney said cordially, “I  _ am  _ your son’s friend. You have raised a phenomenal young man: he has been incredibly kind and helpful to me.” 

So slowly that one might think she wasn’t moving at all, Godywn’s eyes came to lock with Sydney’s. Sydney froze in place. A deep-seated and ancient fear from the dawn of humanity began to creep up her spine. This was not like looking into Dorian’s eyes, where the predation of his vampirism was offset by his honesty and intention to do good. These eyes were cold, unyielding, and distinctly inhuman. She felt like a gnat, cowed before the monstrously large reflective iris of a magnifying glass, being judged from above by something she could not comprehend. 

It felt like being identified as prey. Sydney immediately realized speaking up was a mistake.

“A little to the left, my boy!” Came a chipper British voice outside in the courtyard. All three people, human and vampire, turned their heads in the direction of the noise. The double doors of the mansion swung open and a tall lanky figure slowly backed through them. It was a man in a brown pinstripe suit: he was holding the front end of a piano with one hand and holding the doors open with another. His back was unbent by strain.  _ Another vampire, then _ . Sydney thought with hopeless disbelief. Instead of being trapped with only two tigers in the room, now she was trapped with three. 

“Now an inch to the right. Mind the doorway!” The man cawed, carefully manipulating the piano inside. Bringing up the rear was what Sydney assumed to be yet  _ another  _ vampire: this one was a softer-looking man with an oval face and almond eyes. The gangly pinstripe man holding the front of the piano twisted his head over his shoulder and caught sight of Dorian. 

“Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle! The prodigal son returns! Timur,” He turned back to the other man moving the piano in, “Put this in the middle of the entrance hall, will you? On top of the Tibetan rug.” The man nodded once, miraculously continuing to hold the whole piano aloft as the pinstriped man released his side and came striding over. He pressed a quick kiss to Godyth’s cheek before grabbing Dorian by the shoulders. “Look at how you’ve grown!” He said with pride. “Well, not really, naturally. But emotional and spiritually I’m sure your time in the city has had you changing by leaps and bounds!” 

“He’s regressed, my dear.” Godyth quipped, arms crossed. She flicked her eyes towards Sydney, and the pinstripe man followed her gaze. 

“Oh my.” The man said, running a hand over his carefully combed hair. His interest and attention shifted from his son to the only human in the room. 

“Bernard…” Dorian said warningly. 

“How fascinating, really.” The man, Bernard, quipped. He reached right into Sydney’s personal bubble and touched her wild hair. “Red hair! Not a common trait, for sure. I’ve always found it to be a fascinating strain in humanity’s gene pool. Now tell me, dear boy, what exactly  _ is it  _ that appeals to you about this one? Why keep it around where it can,” he made a vague gesture with his hands, “run its mouth and make a mess?” 

Sydney squared her shoulders. The pain of being addressed like a fascinating new mechanical device cracked across her shoulders like a whip, and the sting of embarrassment was a powerful motivator. “The only thing ‘it’ is running out of right now is patience.” She ground out. Sydney stuck her hand out again, more stubbornly this time. “My name is Sydney Busch. Would you do me the kindness of telling me yours?” 

Bernard’s grin widened and he looked back and forth between her and Dorian. “She’s a right  _ firecracker _ , this one! Very well. I am Bernard Dupont, husband to Godyth and surrogate father to a whole mess of charming girls and boys.” 

There was a clatter as Timur set down the piano bench in front of the massive musical instrument; he’d finished setting up the whole thing by himself in near-complete silence. 

“Why don’t you play something for us, sweetheart?” Godyth said in her mellow silky voice. “I’ve so missed hearing you play since Lysander threw that fit and smashed the old piano. How about, say, ‘Concerto for Solo Piano’ number eight?” 

Timur nodded and straightened his tweed vest. “Of course, Mother.” He replied. Sydney watched him sit down at the bench with supernatural smoothness she really should be accustomed to by now, testing out a few keys. Beside her, Godyth quietly gestured for Dorian to follow her over to the other side of the room: he did so unwillingly, with a discouraged angle to his shoulders. She began to quietly talk to him as the piano music began to pick up. 

The piece jumped straight into the thick of it, rapid alternating notes swirling and filling the air. It immediately became apparent that Timur was not just a good piano player; he was an expert. His fingers flew across the keys with stunning precision, and even though his expression did not change, his body jerked this way and that with impassioned fervor as the piece grew more and more complex. The tune changed, switching from a manic flurry of sound to a soft, slower ballad that ambled and waltzed. Unfortunately this change in style happened at the same time that Godyth’s and Dorian’s conversation– no, argument– was growing louder and louder on the opposite side of the room. Sydney couldn’t make out any words but she could hear the tone just fine. 

Timur’s song switched again, slowly building back up then exploding back into that key-stabbing crescendo. His shoulders shook with every press of the keys: here was a man filled with passion for his craft. 

Sydney almost didn’t catch the venomous look Dorian shot the piano from the other side of the room. In a split second he went from irritated and patient to letting his frustration get the better of him. He strode across the wide hall and, in one movement, kicked the piano away from Timur’s hands. It skidded a good distance across the marble floor, the keys making a discoordinate sound as Timur lost his grip on them. He sat at the bench, at a complete loss and jolted from his musical reverie. 

“How could you  _ say  _ that, Mother? How could you say that?!” Dorian was venomous and impassioned in a way Sydney had never seen him before. “How can you hold such contempt for the very thing you once were? Your husband was? Your  _ children  _ were?” 

“Humanity is a vestige we no longer wear.” Godyth’s voice was cold and unwavering from across the room. “You need to stop clinging to the hems of your past like a frightened schoolboy and accept the truth of yourself! You are a  _ vampire _ , Dorian. You’re above such things now.” 

“I’m not– I’m not _clinging!_ ” Dorian retorted. “I’m the only one in this house that seems to get that! You’ve let your time apart from the rest of the world jade you into a goddamn superiority complex!”

“Language.” Bernard and Godyth said at the same time. 

Still sitting on the bench, Timur coughed quietly and stood. The simple action garnered the attention of everyone in the room. “Dorian.” He said quietly. “I know you’ve been away for a long time. You’re confused, disoriented. I think you’ve lost your way and refuse to acknowledge it. But as your oldest brother, I have to tell you, I’m concerned. We’re  _ all _ worried about you. Even Lysander.” 

Dorian wove his fingers into his curly hair with a face of demented exasperation, like he had half a mind to start tearing it out. “Listen! Do you even hear yourself? You’re talking like you’re some genetically superior alien species, but you’re not! None of us are! We’re people, Timur.” He gestures with open hands at his brother. “Frozen humans. But of course you don’t believe that. Because _she–”_ Dorian pointed right to his mother, “– keeps you cooped up on the property, playing your little piano and listening to _her_ ideologies!” 

Godyth was behind her younger son before Sydney could even shout a word of warning. Gone was the gentle and sentimental woman that greeted him in the main hall. The matriarch of the family slammed Dorian down by the back of the neck, crushing him to the floor. He tried in vain to get up, but she got a knee on his spine and an arm twisted behind his back. “Listen to me, boy.” She said so quietly that Sydney almost couldn't hear it over the thrashing, “You have disrespected the hierarchy of this family for long enough. I have tolerated too much from you, I see that now. I draw the line at your irreverence for ways, your contempt for your own brother.” Godyth released her grip on her son, but he made no move to get up from the floor. “Go to the stables. Get some fresh air and clear your head. Don’t come back until you have your priorities in order. And under no circumstances are you to leave the property.” 

She stood and still Dorian did not move. It was only when she quietly began to walk away that he slowly peeled himself up from the floor. Timur and Bernard regarded him with judgmental silence. Dorian stormed for the front door, grabbing Sydney’s arm and hauling her with him. 

“Dorian, that hurts.” Sydney hissed. The vampire had an iron grip on her delicate wrist bones and was torqueing them as they were rushing down the outside stairs. 

“Hey!” Sydney snapped, then cried in pain when she felt his nails piece her skin. Dorin let go of her arm like he’d been electrocuted, the anger in his eyes replaced with shock, remorse. Sydney held her arm closely to her chest with a hiss; there were four little half-moon cuts in her forearm. 

“I’m… shit, I’m sorry. I forgot, I’m sorry. Can’t go hauling you around like one of my siblings.”   
“Don’t forget again.” Sydney warned, defensive. “You get one strike. I know you’re upset but pay attention to what you're doing.”

“I’m really sorry.” Dorian pulled her arm up to his mouth, turning her wrist to his lips. For a chilling second Sydney thought he was going to sink his teeth into her, but instead he placed a soft kiss to the cuts. The mild sting they gave off disappeared immediately. 

Sydney looked up at the vampire in shock. “You have... lidocaine saliva?” She said. 

That seemed to be enough to pull away the remaining tension and anger Dorian was holding in his shoulders. He let out a barking laugh. “Never heard it put that way before, but yes. Vampiric fluids change pain receptors for anyone in contact with them, myself included. I can still feel pain  _ happening _ , technically; I just don’t have the same reaction to it. It’s not… well. Painful.” Dorian sighed, turned towards a footpath that wrapped around the house, and gestured to it with his hand. “Come on. I’ll show you the stables. I didn’t plan on it, but I guess that’s something we’re doing now.” 

Sydney nodded and followed him, pretending not to notice the muscle tic in his tight jaw. 


	5. Chapter 5

The footpath was more dangerous and meandering than Sydney expected, crossing over tree roots and littered with gopher holes she almost put her foot in more than once. It wove around two small guest houses that were also on the property before coming to the other side of the hill. Below her Sydney saw a wide farmhouse and the very faint rim of a corral beyond that. 

“Watch your step,” Dorian murmured, grabbing her hand and lifting her away from another gopher hole. “Vampires be damned, these rodents are the  _ real  _ threat to humanity.” 

“I guess you could say they’re trying to  _ undermine _ our operation? Put a ro _ -dent  _ in our plans?” Sydney prompted. Jokes were always a good crutch.

Dorian feigned genuine pain at her terrible joke, but did not let go of her hand even as the hill leveled out into the sandy soil of the nearby beach. Sydney pointedly didn’t mention it, on the off-chance that it would make him disentangle their fingers. She found herself not wanting him to let go. Despite her initial second meeting with Dorian in the alleyway, she had come to realize that even if he wasn’t  _ good  _ by any standard of measurement, by god he was trying. He seemed to only do bad things out of necessity and because his family required him to. And his earnest determination to make her comfortable, to keep her safe? It was sweet.

They walked through the open doors of the barn and Sydney’s gaze flickered from side to side, surrounded by the noise of whickering horses and the curious long faces that accompanied them. She was about to ask Dorian a question about who cared for these creatures when she heard an earnest “h’yah!” and the crack of a whip from the corral out back. 

“That would be Lysander.” Dorian said dryly. “Doing the same thing he always does.” 

“Sounding pissed off on the gate intercom?” Sydney responded. Without waiting for a reply she walked out to the corral; anything different would be a welcome distraction from the terrible situation they just came from in the main mansion. 

Inside of the corral was an absolute brick wall of a man with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair, dressed in riding breeches and boots. He held a long switch in one hand and the reins of a beautiful lithe horse in the other. It pranced and twisted in tandem to his movements, the instructor and creature in perfect sync. Dorian helped Sydney up to sit on the edge of the corral as they watched the horse side-step, canter, and showboat, all cued by subtle movements of the crop or gestures from the trainer. It was clear that the man in the ring had been practicing his craft for a very, very long time. 

Dorian put a finger in each corner of his mouth and whistled. The horse in the ring startled, bucking, and the man let out a cry of dismay and quickly wrangled it. He turned towards Dorian, a scowl etched into his stubbly features. 

“Hey Lysander. How’s the pony prancing coming along?” Dorian said with a smirk. Sydney frowned: this was not the respectful (if angry) tone he addressed his other family members with. No, this tone sounded exactly like the one she used to use with her sister when they were both in high school: needling, jabbing, trying to get a rise out of one another. 

“I work with Arabian purebreds, idiot.” Lysander growled. “Not ponies. You’d know that if you stuck around the family for more than a few days at a time.” He wrapped the horse’s reins tighter around his hand. “What are you doing in my stables anyway? Don’t you have a whole city to run around in?” 

“Godyth thought some countryside air would clear my head. Cleanse me of my blasphemous ideals.”

“It’ll take more than some good air to fix  _ you,  _ little brother. Maybe a few well placed kicks to the head. Or a lobotomy.” 

“Mmm, tried the whole ‘blunt force trauma to the brain’ thing already.” Dorian side-eyed Sydney, calling her on nearly bashing his brains in. She nestled her face into her palm, instantly mortified that he even thought of that as a  _ joke  _ instead of a horrible misdemeanor. “Didn’t seem to have that much of an effect, really.” 

“A pity.” Lysander replied dryly. He opened the corral gate and led his horse out of it, back to the barn stall. Sydney hopped down off the railing and slid a bit on the wet ground, regaining her footing uncomfortably close to the brusque vampire. Lysander sighed and looked straight over her head at Dorian with a glare. 

“Control your pet.” He growled. Lysander pushed past Sydney without moving around. The trouble with that was he was an extraordinarily big vampire, and Sydney was a very small woman. She was knocked flat to the ground with a gasp, landing on her back. 

Dorian, who until this moment was keeping very careful control of the unvoiced frustration and anger that had been building up in him all day, let loose. It seemed seeing his friend thrown into the dirt like a ragdoll was the last straw. 

“Hey!” He barked at his brother’s retreating form, jumping over Sydney’s prone body. Lysander turned around just in time to get clocked straight across the cheekbone. He stumbled backwards and the horse reigns flew from his hands, the gangly creature spooking with a whinny and running in the opposite direction. 

Lysander touched his cheek incredulously, like he couldn’t believe Dorian had just done what he had just done. His eyes darkened. “How…  _ dare  _ you.” He seethed. “I’m your  _ older brother _ !” Dorian braced himself, lowering his stance in the muddy entryway of the barn as Lysander took as swing at him. He dodged the first and second strike, but not the third. He got socked in the gut, doubling over with a wheeze. 

“You’re an _animal_ is what you are!” Dorian replied scathingly, and threw his head upwards, smashing it up against Lysander’s chin. Lysander wasted no time lifting Dorian up into the air and throwing him at one of the barn’s heavy wooden support pillars. 

Sydney let out a cry of protest as she saw Dorian’s body bend around it with a sickly snap and fall to the floor. He scrambled helplessly at the muddy straw bedding around him before Lysander turned him over and sat squarely on his torso, a hand around his neck. Dorian jammed a mud covered finger into his brother’s eye and used his moment of surprise to push them  _ both  _ sideways into the mud. Sydney watched, aghast, as the two men before her fought like they were genuinely trying to  _ kill  _ one another. It was horrifying, disturbing beyond all accounts. How could Dorian survive in a family where his own siblings harbored so much hate for him they were willing to try and break his spine? Horses whinnied and whined in dismay from their stalls as their handler wrestled with his brother before them. 

As she watched them tussle and shout obscenities, Sydney eyed the doorway to the barn and the distant ocean on the far edge of the Ashdown property, weighing her chances of getting there before someone ran her down. If she bolted, she’d probably die. But if she made it there, where could she go? Straight into the ocean?  _ Even that would be better than this _ . She thought miserably.

There was a quiet rap of fingers on the wooden wall right next to Sydney’s ear, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. 

A stocky woman with thick eyebrows and a braid of dark brown hair had seemingly materialized in the entryway of the barn without drawing any noise or attention to herself. She wore a floral cotton dress, and a distinctly vintage silver cross dangled from her neck. Her chocolate eyes were kind, but her lips were fixed in a genuinely frustrated frown as she looked at the two vampires in the middle of the barn. 

“Oh how the mighty have fallen.” She murmured. “Dorian! Lysander! What on God’s green Earth do you think you’re doing? You look like a couple of state fair pigs at a hog show!” 

Lysander and Dorian froze in their tangle, looking up at the woman at the same time. “Sofia.” They both said: Lysander with a tone of resignation, Dorian with delight.

“In the flesh.” She replied with a little bow. Her gaze turned to Sydney, who stiffened: every single vampire so far had given her the third-wheel treatment. “And who might you be, mmm? I don’t think we’ve ever been introduced. I assume you’re a friend of Dorian’s.” She extended her hand politely.

_ Oh my god, someone who is finally talking to me like a normal person _ . Sydney shook her hand vigorously, noting it was the same air-temperature coolness as Dorian’s always was. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m your new best friend.” 

Sofia beamed with an unprecedented pleasantness for a vampire. “I don’t know how I quite managed that so quickly, but I’m flattered nonetheless. Not to knock my other siblings, but Dorian’s my favorite brother. Any friend of his is a friend of mine.” She held up her phone towards the two men who were now wiping off chunks and stains of dirt from their clothing as best they could. The screen glowed with a text message that was too far away for Sydney to read. “Mother says come home. She rescheduled our tickets for tonight: we’ve been upgraded to first class.” She seemed almost unperturbed by the fact that she had walked in on two of her family members fighting: was this a common enough occurrence in the house that it was considered normal? 

“If Dorian gets seated next to me I’m crashing the plane.” Lysander grumbled. He crossed his arms and shifted closer to Sofia: clearly he preferred to be nearer to one sibling than the other right now.

Dorian sighed stiffly, walking to Sydney and putting his hands on his hips matter-of-factly. “Well.” He commented. “Not sure this is what Godyth meant when she said get some air.” 

Sydney looked at his tangled mop. “You’ve got an, erm. Let me just…” She rooted around in his curls, pulling bits of straw and debris out. Even with the gunk and dust his hair was still shiny and healthy. Lysander made a dismissive noise at the sight of the human grooming a vampire’s hair like a monkey. 

Dorian tilted his head and patiently waited. “Sofia, you’ve obviously met my friend Sydney? Sydney, this is my little sister. Youngest of all of us.” He gave his sister a wave and she smiled. “ _ If  _ you can consider thirty going on sixty to be young, anyways.” 

“Still getting my bearings.” Sofia admitted warmly. “It was a… pretty big lifestyle change.”

“Sofia’s a professional opera singer. She’s phenomenal.” Dorian said conspiratorially, mouth close to Sydney’s ear.

“It’s true. Now all we need is a prolific magician and we’ll have a complete set of genius children.” Lysander added tersely. 

“What do you mean, complete set?” Sydney asked. 

Sofia pulled the same exacerbated expression that a tired uncle who doesn’t want to talk politics at Thanksgiving might pull. “Lysander, please. Let’s not get into this.”

“Oh but let’s absolutely get into this.” Lysander bit back, making Sofia sigh. 

“Seriously?” Dorian said, looking accusing. “You  _ know  _ how much this bothers her. Why are you bringing this up?”

“Oh!” Lysander put a hand to his chest in mock shock. “So it’s perfectly fine for you to be an extremist human rights advocate, but as soon as  _ I  _ want to talk about  _ our _ family, you draw the line?” Lysander pivoted to Sydney, addressing her directly for the first time: she got the feeling it was more to bother his siblings than to benefit her. “You’ve probably noticed Timur, right? The guy is a genius on the piano; been that way since the 1600s. I’m  _ clearly _ an expert in animal training. Sofia’s a singer, and Hermela’s been a professional ballet dancer for one hundred and fifty years. Are you getting the picture yet?” 

Sydney said nothing just in case she was wrong, but the pieces were coming together. 

Lysander sighed. “Of course you’re not. You’re a human. We are not a ‘found family’. We were carefully assembled by Godyth and Bernard. Hand-picked from all across the globe: the prettiest, the smartest, the most talented. I have a lot of loyalty to my Mother, I do. She made me what I am today and without her I would be dead and rotten. I respect her and Father and all their wishes and demands. But let’s get one thing straight. This is no family: there is no love here. Let’s call it what it really is… a gallery. An army.” 

“But that’s so clearly not true.” Sydney interrupted. Lysander stopped short, blinking rapidly at her audacity. “Okay, so maybe most of it is. Clearly a lot of you don’t get along, and clearly most everyone else here has some  _ extremely  _ warped views of the worth of a human life. But just look at Dorian and Sofia!” Sydney gestured between the two unrelated siblings. “It is so obvious that they got along well.  _ Better  _ than blood-related siblings, even. Isn’t having one good relationship worth it? I mean, they never would have even  _ met  _ if they hadn’t been a part of this.”

Sofia cupped Sydney’s cheeks. “You. are.  _ So sweet. _ ” She said with delight, turning back to her dark-haired brother with an expression of delight. “She is so sweet! It’s like she sees the good in everything, like some adorable red-haired good-moment-truffle-sniffing pig. How did you meet someone so nice?” 

“Just luck, I guess.” Dorian murmured. The usual slight bravado that accompanied his visage was gone. Now he stared at Sydney with a warm, tender gaze that was almost thankful. It made Sydney feel oddly exposed.

“Un-be- _ lievable _ .” Lysander says breathlessly. His gaze is threatening to burn into Sydney’s skull. “You’re going to sit there, cooing and awwing over the pet monkey’s opinions of our family that she knows nothing about?” He scoffed, looking sickened. “I was right. Mother always  _ was  _ too lenient with you, and now we’re all going to pay the price if  _ that _ –” He pointed roughly to Sydney, “–isn’t dealt with. It’s the root of all your bad habits.” 

“Keep talking and you’ll lose that poisonous tongue of yours, Lysander.” Dorian warned.

Lysander scoffed and looked to Sofia for backup on this, but she had angled herself to stand in line with Sydney and Dorian, not him. He made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat and set off back up the path that led to the mansion.

“I’m not saying he’s right, but he’s got a point.” Sofia said quietly. “Why did you bring her here? You know how dangerous it is. There’s truth behind the urban legends of monsters in these hills.”

“You think I’d do this by choice? Sofia, I wouldn’t even bring another vampire here. That house is a dumpster fire. Hermela caught Sydney in my apartment, overhearing everything. I wouldn’t let her hurt her so she marched me over here to put my ‘behavioral problems’ on full display in front of Mother.” 

“She tried to put her stiletto heel into my brain through my eye socket.” Sydney said faintly. 

Sofia sucked in a sigh through her teeth and rubbed Sydney’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sorry. Hermela can be kind of a lot.” She looked at Dorian with somber eyes. “We can’t keep them waiting. Come on. You’re not alone in this fight anymore, both of you… I’ll try and get Mother and Father de-escalated, have them swear Sydney to secrecy or something. Really. I’ll do everything in my power, I promise. This will all work out, you’ll see.” 

Dorian wiped a stray smear of drying mud from underneath his nose and nodded, looking down at the redhead by his side. Sydney gave him a shaky thumbs up as they exited the barn. They were holding hands again, and she found herself hoping they would never let go. The vampire was fast becoming her anchor in this turbulent situation. 

“What Lysander was saying earlier, about your family being an assembly of talents,” Sydney asked in as casual a voice she could manage, “What’s yours?”

The smile on Dorian’s face was bitter. It wasn’t a jealous thing: just resentful. “I don’t have one. Mother was always a fan of collecting pretty things.”

The house was in organized chaos as they returned. Vampires walked to-and-fro carrying carry-on luggage and steamer trunks. Sydney caught fragments of conversation between them about flight times, coordination, and whether ‘the Morblanques from France would prefer a marble bust or a bronze one as a welcoming gift’. Timur was helping Hermela wrap up several more of what Sydney now assumed to be formal gifts for other vampires in tissue paper, placing them in a luggage bag before quietly exiting out the front door. Hermela pointedly ignored Dorian and Sydney as they passed her by. Bernard, however, waved to them from the stairs in a jolly way, as if he hadn’t watched his wife viciously bully his son only a little while ago. 

Godyth came trotting around the bend from the adjacent hallway moments later. “Lysander, darling,” She leaned to the side to look around Dorian, “Is everyone present and accounted for?” 

Lysander talked over a small mountain of boxes he was carrying. “All save for Hakim. He should be here any moment, per your orders.” 

Dorian’s grip on Sydney’s fingers tightened infinitesimally, and she looked up to see the facial expression of a man deep in worried thought. “...Father?” He said slowly, as if piecing something together. “When you sent me that invitation to go on the family hunt a week ago, did everybody come with you?” 

“They did indeed, my dear boy.” Bernard said, leaning against the banister. “All save for your brother Hakim, that is. I imagine he’s quite thirsty, the poor man. Hasn’t been near a human in a good few months.” The fluid activity around the main hall slowed to a crawl as he talked: every vampire was listening in. 

Dorian looked aghast. He pulled Sydney closer to himself. “You  _ knew _ ! Why did you call him here? You  _ know  _ what he’ll do to her!” 

Godyth gave Dorian a withering look, like a parent run fresh out of patience for a rambunctious child. “Darling, this is for the best. Do us all a favor and just let it happen, alright? Then we can move on with our lives.” 

At that moment all attention zeroed in on the front door. Clearly everyone sensed something Sydney couldn’t. Dorian scrambled to put Sydney behind himself, but it was too late. The double doors were already open, the eighth and final member of the Ashdown family striding in with a comfortable grin on his face, mouth open as if he were about to give a greeting. He was a beautiful middle-eastern man with close-cropped hair, dressed in a comfortable-looking flight jacket. But he froze in the doorway like he had been paralyzed. 

Sydney peered out from behind Dorian’s tense form. Hakim was looking right at her. With a gasp she watched as the bright whites of his eyes bloomed outwards from his iris with a deadly red hue, the sclera now an alarming crimson. Like a man unhinged he started to barrel straight towards the two of them, a snarl contorting his lips. He was a hunter out for blood, and his eyes were locked on Sydney. 

Dorian met him halfway across the room with a furious shout, tackling him to the floor like a football player. “Sofia!” He screamed, struggling with all his strength, “Please!” 

The world tilted as Sofia abruptly grabbed Sydney around the torso and tucked her under her arm, sprinting for the still-open doors of the house as fast as she could. They were outside in the daylight in a flash, headed straight for one of the cars at the end of the roundabout. Timur got out from the driver’s seat, looking at them in confusion and then dawning realization. Sydney took Sofia’s abrupt stop as an opportunity to get to her own feet, panting and heart racing in her ears. 

“Timur, Sydney and I need to leave.  _ Now _ .” 

Timur looked back at the house and then at the two women. 

“Please.” Sofia begged. “You  _ know  _ it’s not right. He’s gonna kill her.” 

After another split second of hesitation, Timur’s expression hardened. He threw the keys at Sofia who caught them in her palm. “Go. Quickly.” He urged, before running back up the house stairs towards the sounds of fighting. 

Sydney yanked open the car door, falling into the seat in a jumble of limbs and hair. Sofia didn’t even wait for her human friend to buckle her seatbelt before she was flooring it out of the circle, tearing down the winding road towards the gate. Sydney was crushed back into the car seat from the force of the speed. In the reflection of the rear view mirror she saw the unmistakable visage of a shoeless Hermela doggedly chasing the car down the street, running as fast as an olympic sprinter. The sight filled her with the bone-deep panic of being chased, of being hunted, and she pointed to the mirror with a breathless gasp. Sofia egged the car on even faster and pressed a button on an electronic clip. The gate before them rattled open: it was barely wide enough for them to blast straight through. Sofia turned the car with a cacophonous screech of tires and started doing 70 down the four-lane road the Ashdown Estate branched off from. When Sydney finally got her bearings again, breathing still manic, she checked the rear-view mirror again. Hermela was nowhere to be seen. 

“What– What’s going on? Jesus, Sofia, what just happened?” Sydney said haplessly, struggling to put her seatbelt on. She checked the mirror again, expecting to see Hermela or Lysander or a sleek car bearing down on their heels. There was nothing. The road was empty, speckled in shadows from the oak leaves overhead: so why did she still feel chased?

“Mother and Father just tried to kill you is what just happened.” Sofia said in a high, terrified voice. 

“That vampire, that guy– who was that, Sofia? Who was that? God, he almost tore my throat out!” Sydney paused, eyes growing even wider. “Dorian’s still back with him!”

Sofia swallowed hard. The speed meter on the car ticked from 70 to 75. “That was Hakim. He’s– he’s been away for a few months, away from anybody, taking some time to get his creative inspiration back by living in the Wilder Ranch woods. Mother  _ knew  _ he’d go rabid once he saw you, she  _ knew _ . That’s why she invited him over. She wanted him to take you out so she and Bernard wouldn’t have to. Good lord above.” She dug her nails into the plastic of the car’s wheel, carving little divots in it. This situation had her just as distressed as Sydney was. “When we’re not hungry we’re fine, we’re under control, but when it gets to a certain point, we just… We’re in perfect control until we’re not. Usually about three months in. Then we can go rabid. Hakim– Hakim was rabid.” 

“What about Dorian?” Sydney replied quickly. “He’s still back there! Wait, Sofia, we have to go back!” She leaned forward, reaching for the car door. Right before she started jerking at the handle, the lock mechanism clicked: Sofia had put child safety on.

“Are you crazy?” Sofia snapped in her direction, jerking the car onto the highway ramp. “Unless you want to get ripped into tiny little pieces of human confetti you’ll stay very, very far away from that house. We’re not going back. We’re going somewhere with lots of people, somewhere we can’t be cornered. Nobody knows where you live, right? We’ll stay there, not draw too much attention to ourselves.”

Sydney knew they were heading back to San Francisco. They were on the main road towards it. It was heavily-populated and dense: the perfect place to hide from a gaggle of vampires who liked to isolate their prey. She steadied herself with a slow exhale, and remembered Dorian rubbing the small of her back as she stood on that bridge all those months ago.  _ Just breathe _ , he had said,  _ just breathe.  _

“He’s in real trouble, isn’t he?” Sydney asked after a few minutes of collecting herself. 

Sofia clenched and unclenched her jaw. “He is. He really is. And I don’t know if he’ll be able to get out of it this time.” Her voice was soft, the initial panic gone and replaced with aching worry. “Sydney, how he acted back there… all of that was unacceptable by Mother’s standards. She’s tried to beat his mortals out of him before. I’m worried she’ll do it again.” 

Sydney held the heat threatening to spill out of her eyes back with sheer willpower. Dorian was sweet, funny, and so willing and open to change for the better. He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve throwing himself to the wolves to protect her. “Okay.” She said on a shaky exhale. “I’m gonna call my boss, let him know why I… missed… no.” She patted her pants pocket but came up empty. “ _ No _ . I left my phone at the manor.  _ And  _ my wallet. And my meds, shit!”

“Fixable problems.” Sofia soothed nervously. “Look, let’s just focus on getting away from Santa Cruz and laying low in San–” 

She was interrupted by a phone ringing inside of the car, coming from the speakers. The contact name on the digital screen above the radio dial read ‘Hermela Ashdown’. Sofia and Sydney shared a weighted look before the vampire pressed the green answer button: it would be best to get any information they could at this point.

“Lysander says that if you scratch his car he’ll never forgive you.” Hermela’s voice drifted through the speakers in a nonchalant way, as if she were calling an old acquaintance, not a family member that she tried to catch and drag back inside the mansion. 

_ We’re in Lysander’s car _ . Sydney thought miserably. Somehow that made this whole situation worse. Now that she knew that she couldn’t un-smell his terrible cologne, couldn’t unimagine his angry eyes reflecting back at her from the windshield. “Yeah, well, Lysander can sit on it and spin.” She replied, fists balled tightly atop her knees. 

Hermela gave a groan. “Sofia, babe, sweetheart. Darling sister. Come home, won’t you? You’re only making this worse for yourself, you know.” Her voice was velvety and convincing. Sofia bit her lower lip and hunched her shoulders, determined to not be swayed. “Why are you fueling Dorian’s delusions? All you’re doing is hurting him. Making Mother and Father hurt him. Don’t you see that? If you bring the girl back now, nothing bad will happen. Just bring her back. Then everything will be–” 

Sydney jabbed the hang-up button with the pad of her finger angrily. Silence fell over the cabin of the car again save for the whir of the air vents and the hum of the road.  _ God,  _ Sydney thought to herself,  _ this is not how I envisioned my Wednesday going _ . A hot tear broke free from her lower lashes and ran down her cheek; it was a betrayal of emotion she furiously scrubbed away. To compensate for it she put a hand on Sofia’s shoulder. “It’s okay.” Sydney said, more to herself than anything. “This is going to be okay. We’ll get him out of there. We’ll fix this.”

“Yeah.” Sofia agreed. “We’ll fix this.”

Sydney was an excellent liar. But this time she couldn’t even fool herself. 


	6. Chapter 6

Sydney and her tentative newfound friend got back to her apartment just as the sun was going down. She let herself in with her hidden key; the only one she had left considering her wallet and bag were with a bunch of bloodthirsty vampires right now. The first thing she did (aside from checking the street below every twenty minutes like a complete paranoid) was get on her laptop and cancel all her credit cards, along with requesting an early refill on her medication. It had been almost twenty hours without it and she was already experiencing a blossoming headache in the back of her brain on top of all her other stress points. The  _ last  _ thing she needed right now was a relapse of overwhelming apathy and hopelessness. Sofia needed her to be there for her. She acted out the role of big protective and scary vampire as best she could, but Sydney could see she was petrified. Why wouldn’t she be? She was still so new to her own life, still so dependent on her family, still harboring feelings of loyalty and care towards her blood-parents. And now she had completely betrayed their trust for the first time ever. 

Neither woman got any sleep that night. Sydney laid in her bed and watched the moon pass in and out of the clouds, wondering how in the world she was even going to go back to a normal life after this. After what she saw, what she  _ knew _ . 

It turned out it was easy. She checked her account balance at 5:00 in the morning the next day and realized she was in the red: she needed another paycheck desperately. After a crippling purchase of a new phone at the electronics store and a long hour sitting on a park bench figuring out how to activate it, Sydney was assaulted with a barrage of hundreds of texts from her angry boss.  _ Crap,  _ she remembered,  _ I missed two shifts _ . There weren't a lot of workers at the deli to begin with.

About a half-hour later Sydney was getting call after call from her boss. She was hosting a brief meeting with a few of the women from her horticulture club, surrendering her precious plants to people she knew she could trust. Sofia said she didn’t have to: chances were she was going to be fine and have plenty of time to take care of them. But Sydney couldn’t stand the thought that on the off chance that the Ashdowns found her, hurt her… killed her, babies would be left alone to slowly die of dehydration. Sofia shuffled Sydney out of the way, saying she could handle handing the plants out while Sydney answered her phone. 

As soon as she pressed ‘accept’ her ear was immediately being talked off by her boss, Mr. Ossani. He was a brutish, grouchy-looking man with a thick Italian accent and a receding hairline. All the workers at the deli were treated terribly by him, but the work paid well and the amount of customers was always relatively low so most times it seemed like it was worth it. This was not one of those times. Mr. Ossani was an endless torrent of swears and accusations, talking about how ‘the workers at MY deli are a family’ and ‘you ABANDONED your family, Busch!’ 

Sydney stood in the middle of the coffee shop, fighting back tears.  _ What is with the tears lately? Get a grip.  _ All she could do was repeatedly apologize and promise him she wouldn’t miss any more shifts. 

Without warning a room-temperature hand was plucking the smartphone right out of Sydney’s grip. “Hello. Mr. Ossani, was it?” Sophia said sweetly. Mr. Ossani blustered on the other end of the line, demanding to know who was speaking to him. “Oh, this is Sydney’s aunt. See, Sydney left town to come to a family emergency: her grandfather has been hit by a car. He perished. It was truly tragic. But of course  _ you _ understand the value of family, don’t you Mr. Ossani? You have to be there for your family.”

Mr. Ossani blustered for a few more seconds before gruffly telling Sofia that if Sydney missed another shift without warning she would be fired, and then hung up. 

“Mm. Nasty individual.” Sophia said softly, relinquishing the cell phone. “You know, you really don’t have to go back to that awful place. I have a  _ lot  _ of money: you spend a lot less when you don’t need to pay for medical bills or food. It could pay the rent and buy whatever you need.” 

“That’s really sweet, Sofia, but no.” She waved goodbye to the club of women as she and Sofia left the coffee shop, the door’s bell tinkling as they opened it. “I’m not keeping this job for the money. I need something to do all day: if I’m just sitting at home, waiting for a vampire to break down my door, I’ll go crazy. And it keeps my mind off of everything. Off of Dorian.” Sydney paused. “God, Sofia, I’m so worried about him. I really… I really miss him. I didn’t expect to miss him so much.” 

The shelter doors slid open in front of them as they left. “Of course you’re missing him.” Sofia said. “You like him.” It didn’t take a genius to decipher the smug romantic overtures in her tone. 

Sydney tripped a bit on the ramp leading down the parking lot. “I’m not– that– those are some  _ very  _ strong accusations you’re throwing around. I don’t… It’s–” Her argument ended with a pitiful attempt as a careless scoff, going quiet as she tried to wrap her head around the alarming and unexpected truth in her friend’s words.

Sofia gave her a pointed look over her large sunglasses, but said nothing. 

* * *

A month passed. Thirty days, exactly.

Neither woman had heard anything from anyone. Not even Hermela. It was complete radio silence. Honestly, Sydney would have preferred threats of bodily harm over the lack of communication: the insecurity of it all had her teeth permanently on edge. She was always paranoid, looking over her own shoulder. Scrutinizing every customer that came into the deli, watching every car that passed. It was incredibly draining. 

And she knew it was stupid, but she texted Dorian. More often than she liked to admit to herself. The worst part about  _ that  _ was that every single text bubble would come up as read, but never replied to. She knew somewhere in the back of her mind that she should stop, that it was probably one of the Ashdowns that had gotten ahold of Dorian’s phone, waiting for a hint as to where Sydney could be. 

_ Are you safe, Dorian? _

_ Hello? _

_ Please answer my texts. _

_ It’s been a while and I’m scared for you.  _

_ Sofia and I are okay. I miss you.  _

_ Please answer.  _

_ We miss you.  _

_ I miss you. _

The oven beeped, startling Sydney. She was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, contemplating sending another message to Dorian. Taking a towel in each hand she opened up the oven door and pulled out the frozen lasagna she had been cooking, setting it on the countertop. At that moment Sofia came gliding past, adjusting her knitted beanie and headed for the door. 

“Where are you headed?” Sydney asked, transferring the lasagna to a scratched-up plastic plate. 

“It’s November.” Sofia said hesitantly. She looked like she was ready to carefully gauge Sydney's reaction to whatever she was going to say next. “I haven’t fed in almost three months. Don’t really wanna be around you for  _ that  _ milestone.” 

“Haven’t fed… oh, no no no!” Sydney protested. She planted herself squarely in front of the door. 

“This really isn’t negotiable. Look, I’ve really  _ liked _ staying with you, doing all these human things. Going to bookstores, looking at knick-knacks in Chinatown. It’s been… well, it’s been more fun than I’ve had in years. But this is a part of  _ my  _ lifestyle that is unavoidable.” As tactfully as she could, Sofia lifted Sydney up and set her down several inches to the side. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” 

“No! Just... wait. I think I might have a workaround for your problem. Can you give me a little time?” 

Sofia sighed. “Yes, in theory. But the longer I go without, the more of a danger to you I become, okay? So either do your thing or don’t, but please don’t keep me waiting.” She retired to the nearby sofa and sat as still as a statue. 

Sydney tried to lean over the countertop and eat her lasagna, but the vampire across the room just  _ wouldn’t stop staring at her.  _ She slapped the fork down, giving up. “Fine, I’ll do my thing now.” She grumbled, reaching for her laptop. 

“Thank you.” Sofia replied sweetly. 

Sydney lugged her computer onto her lap as she sank cross-legged onto the floor, away from Sofia’s prying and expectant eyes. It wasn’t like her to be this pushy, but she supposed she was probably just grumpy from hunger. Her fingers clacked across the keys, bringing her to her Facebook contact list. She clicked on Jameson’s name and took a moment to compose herself. God, she didn’t want to do this. But it was for the greater good.  _ Hey!  _ She wrote.  _ It’s been a while since I messaged you! Listen, I was hoping to ask you for a favor. I know that’s expecting a lot. Can we meet up?  _ She was just about to reach for her dinner when the computer pinged; it had only taken Jameson seconds to respond.

_ Hey hey hey yourself, Sydsie! Was just finishing up some paperwork down at the morgue. You can swing by any time in the next hour if you want to! I could give you the tour. Don’t worry about getting in: me and the security guard are tight.  _

Sydney grimaced.  _ Sure, sounds great! I’ll be there in 30 min. Peace.  _ She threw a couple smiling emojis in there for good measure. With a kiss to the top of Sofia’s head and a snagged jacket from the coat hanger, she was off to catch the bus over to Saint Francis Memorial Hospital. The thought of spending time around Jameson and his too-touchy hands filled her with revulsion, but she had been through so much lately that she no longer had any qualms about breaking his nose to get what she wanted.

The lights were industrial and white on the inside of the massive high-rise building. She approached the front desk nervously, the line feeling endless. “Hi.” She tucked her hair behind her ear as she talked to the very tired looking elderly receptionist. “I’m here to see Jameson Higgs? He works down in the morgue?” 

The receptionist stared unblinkingly at her before ever so slowly turning around to a birdlike man in a bright blue officer shirt. “Hey Matty.” She drawled. “The kid says she’s here to see James.” 

The officer startled and looked up from his phone, adjusting his glasses. “Who? Ah, oh, yeah. He said he was bringing someone over. You’re the new lab tech right?” 

Sydney shrugged, looking down at her very unprofessional and nonmedical outfit. “Sure.” The guard gestured for her to follow him, and together they went down several flights of stairs and through many very confusing identical hallways. Eventually they came to a set of large steel doors. The guard held one open for her with a dated sort of politeness, and she smiled awkwardly as she went through. 

“Sydney? Sydney, is that you?” A voice called. It was unmistakably Jameson: the same voice she had heard only a few hours earlier at the deli when he came in to get his regular dinner. That actually happened to be the seventh time he invited her for drinks and she turned him down. 

“Yup. Here I am.” She put on a brave face and a happy smile as the mortician walked up, still in a blue apron. “Cool place you’ve got here.”

“I know, right?” Jameson said gleefully. He clapped his gloved hands together. “We just got a new cooling system for the tables.” He hustled over a stainless steel tabletop and gestured to the tubing on the underside in excitement. “It’s a radiant coolant, so we can keep the bodies fresh even if the power goes out!” 

Sydney nodded, arms crossed. Jameson was an eerily aggressively romantic man who couldn’t take rejection to save his life, but he had a real passion for his work. Even though that work consisted of manhandling dead bodies. Jameson gave her a brief tour of the facilities, which ended up consisting of a lot of chrome, stainless steel, and mugshots of dead elderly people. 

Jameson sat down at a desk that was propped against the corner, covered in files, papers, and a large outdated PC. There was a small figurine of a scantily-clad anime girl with a painfully large bust standing atop it. “So.” Jameson said, leaning back in his rolling office chair. “You said you had a ‘favor’ to ask me. Tell me: what can the James do for the dame?”

More than anything in the world right now Sydney wanted to crumple herself up so small that her mass inverted and she became a black hole. But that wasn’t really an option: Sofia was waiting for her at home, thirsty and running low on patience. “Oh, now that I’m here, I think it might just be a little strange. I’m embarrassed to say.” She said with mock bashfulness, playing with a lock of her hair for good measure. 

The mortician leaned forward in his seat, his interest piqued. “Oh no, Riri. You don’t ever have to be embarrassed around me. Come on, tell me what you need.” He wore a confident and smug grin on his face.  _ How did this man manage to make that sentence sound so lecherous _ ? 

Sydney took another step closer to the desk. “You promise you won’t think I’m weird?”

“I promise, sweetheart.” His oily hair glistened in the overhead lights. 

“Well, I figured… you know, since you work in a hospital and all. Maybe you could help me get my hands on some blood?” 

Whatever romantic vibe Jameson was convincing himself they had thrumming between them was instantly killed. He looked at her in confusion and then, most horrifying of all, smarmy intrigue. “I might be able to fulfill that request.” He steepled his fingers. “But before I do, there’s something I wanna know.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Is this some sort of… coven of hot witches occult-y thing?” 

Sydney had half a mind to reach across the desk and choke the self-assured ladykiller look off of his face.  _ No, you creep! I gotta feed the vampire in my living room so she doesn’t go off on a sporadic spree and eat me in my sleep!  _ Seriously,  _ how  _ was she supposed to respond to that?

“Yes.” She said tightly. “Yes. It’s an occult thing.” 

“Ohoho, nice! I love it. Yeah, I can get you what you need. But it’s gonna cost you.” He linked his hands behind his head. “Hundred bucks a bag: this stuff ain't easy to 'disappear'.” 

“Done.” Sydney said quickly. That price was steep enough to make her wallet thrash about in her pocket in agony, but she fully intended to reimburse herself through Sofia’s flush funding. Twenty minutes and a lot of awkward blocked flirting later and Sydney was on the bus home. She could feel the two bags of blood she bought shift and slosh inside of her messenger bag. As she held onto the railing inside the bus cabin she couldn’t help but wonder how her life got to be like this; living under constant threat of death while bribing morticians and trying to hold down a steady 9 to 5 job. 

“That was fast. I expected you to be out all night.” Sofia commented as Sydney locked the apartment door. She had not moved from her seat on the couch. 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

“Well collecting blood can’t be an  _ easy  _ task for a human, can it now?” 

“Prepare to be amazed, my friend.” Sydney held up the two still-chilly bags of transfusion blood like a hunter might hold a freshly-killed rabbit. 

“Oh!” Sofia said in surprise. She was over in an instant, eyes bright. “Fork it over.” The woman wasted no time ripping off the top of the first bag and fastening her lips around the tube like a juice box. The tang of iron filled the air, turning Sydney’s stomach. 

“Oh… boy, yeah, no, let’s get you a cup.” She handed over an old Starbucks cup with a twist-off lid and reusable straw she hadn’t used in years. She watched from across the counter in morbid fascination while Sofia ripped open both bags and dumped them inside the container. For a moment she eyed the cold lasagna on the counter, then turned her sights back to the dark liquid traveling up the straw tube and decided to pop her dinner in the fridge for another day. 

“Any good?” Sydney prompted. 

“Hmm.” Sofia smacked her lips and rested her elbows against the plastic countertop. “It’s like… you know when you eat leftovers that don’t quite taste like they’re  _ supposed  _ to be eaten, but get the job done anyway? That’s what this is like.” 

Sydney watched the cup’s fluid level sink lower and lower, putting her chin in her hand. “Bad leftovers, huh? I could have bought so many weeks worth of groceries with how much that one meal cost.” 

“How mupth?” Sofia asked around a mouthful of liquid.

“Two hundred dollars.” 

The vampire swallowed hard. “Oh dear. But to be fair by spending that much you  _ did  _ just successfully stop the death of some scummy evil criminal crawling around San Francisco. So. Not sure why you were  _ quite  _ so insistent about that, but. Yay.” 

“Ugh.” Sydney complained. “You and Dorian are just as bad about this. Look,  _ killing anyone  _ is bad. It doesn’t matter if they’re a sinner or a saint. The whole point is not that killing the wrong person is bad, it’s that the  _ death of a human _ is bad.” 

“How can you say that, though? Humans kill each other all the time for no reason;  _ they  _ don’t even do it to survive like we do.” 

“Yeah, and there’s a reason why that’s illegal!  _ Because it’s bad _ .” Sydney countered. Sofia looked at her blankly, not understanding at all. She sucked at her empty cup, making a rattling noise. 

“Sydney. Sweetheart. Humanity is not exempt from the circle of life, or the food chain! You know that I wholeheartedly believe the way vampires treat humans is atrocious, and our superiority complex is a façade so we don’t have to be held accountable for our actions. But I  _ don’t  _ disagree with our dietary habits. Have you ever considered that maybe you’re just uncomfortable with the idea that you’re not on the top rung on the predatory ladder?” 

“No, of course not! I know how the circle of life works: I even participate in it, I’m not a vegan. But you say you view yourself as equal to humanity, Sofia. Why are you still willing to kill them?”

“Wolf packs attack other wolves. Gorillas wage war on other gorillas, even going so far as to cannibalize them. How is that different to what we’re doing?” 

Sydney pinched the bridge of her nose, pausing their conversation to shake out a prescription pill into her palm and get a drink of water from the sink. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this anymore.” She muttered. “My head is spinning. I’m going to bed.” 

“Think about what I said!” Sofia called after her as she closed the door to her room. Sydney fell face-down on the covers of her twin cot. Through the single-pane window she heard the sounds of traffic below, and fumbled with the metal window latch until she could haul it open. The cold city air of late November filtered in, bringing with it the sounds of wind and machinery and late-night gulls. 

She laid her arms across the windowsill, letting the chill wash across her cheeks. Sometimes the sight of the city skyline, all lit up and impersonal, made her feel so small. So alone. It was moments like this, the lull in her life, when those dark and seductively sad feelings crept along the edges of her mind. They beckoned her to fall back into that emotionless blackness, promising reprieve from the stress and fear that hung over her head every day. 

Sydney looked out over the neighborhood below. From her vantage point she could see the Pacific Heights district: one of those many sloping roofs was Dorian’s apartment building, where she had sat drinking wine and learning about real fairy tales for the first time. The visceral sight of it made her heart twist under her ribs and she instinctively clutched her chest. There was that pain again. Like needles in her skin whenever she thought of him. Thought about what might be happening to him right now. There was never a time when she felt more useless then when she remembered that her  _ friend _ was trapped with his abusive family out in the countryside, away from help. What could she do? Call the police, tell them her friend was taken hostage by his family and also they’re vampires so bring a SWAT team because they’re murder machines? 

Sometimes situations were so worrisome and painful they just made you numb. Her life had been like that for the past months. Theoretically she could take what little money she had and fly herself to Europe, or to her parent’s retirement home in Florida. She asked Sofia if that was a good idea one time, but the vampire just sucked on her lower teeth and told her the vampire network was everywhere. As far as they knew nobody else like them lived in San Francisco city, so they were safe. This was really the only place to be. But it still felt like being frozen in inaction. 

She looked at the screen of her phone again, at her list of messages sent to Dorian. With a press of a button she sent one final text before crawling under the blankets and drifting off into an uneasy slumber. 

_ I’m sorry I can’t help you. I really hope you’re alive.  _

The next day Sydney threw on her most comfortable pair of boots and headed to the San Francisco public library hall to do a little more digging in her free time. Books were her last bet. The internet yielded no help when it came to researching vampirism and the Red Assembly. Key word searches turned up nothing but millions of early two-thousands vampire fanblogs and trashy books about bloody romance. On every search page pale men and women looked out at her with brooding gazes and bruise-rimmed eyes. Sydney sighed and how incongruous the public image of an immortal was with their true demeanor.  _ Vampires aren’t bloodless tortured souls with hearts ready to fall in love,  _ she thought to herself.  _ Most of them are pretty tan and wouldn’t think twice about running you over with a car.  _

Vlad the Impaler came up often, considered to generally be the root for the legends of today. ‘Was Vlad the Impaler a vampire _? _ ’ Sydney texted Sofia. She got several cry-laughing emojis in response.  _ I’ll take that as a no _ .

She spent several more hours in the stacks of books, reading so much that her eyes burned. It was insane how wide-spread and inaccurate the mythos all was. Turning into bats? Burning in the sun? She scoffed, thinking about Dorian traipsing around in the mid-day sun outside the Ashdown manor before closing the tome she was reading with a  _ thump _ . How could a whole group of creatures that had been around for thousands of years not have a shred of evidence against them?

It wasn’t just discouraging: it was demoralizing. Sydney discovered that she didn’t just want answers… she wanted  _ solutions _ . Some magic weak point vampires had. A vulnerability she could exploit: it was something she was looking for almost without realizing it. She wanted to help Dorian.

With a long-suffering sigh she left the library with less confidence than she came with.


	7. Chapter 7

_ She knew it was a dream before anything else. The world was dark around her, nebulous and unimportant. She looked at her hands, her arms: they were oozing honey. Bright golden and clear, smelling sweetly of wildflowers. Every inch of her body was sticky with the stuff. It flowed off of her like slow-moving water. It didn’t concern her. Her attention was elsewhere.  _

_ Across from her, looking around in confusion, was Dorian.  _

_ She cried out in delight and ran up to him: he was alive, he was safe! He returned her beaming smile, looking radiant and healthy like the day they met. She grabbed his hands, intertwining their fingers.  _

_ His skin was hot. Too hot. Her fingers felt like they were slipping. No, not slipping… melting. She looked down at her hands. Her body was beeswax, yellow and pliable and melting from being too close to him.  _

_ Dorian’s smile was incredibly pained. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and sat on his lower lashes. His pain was enough to stir her own inside her chest, twisting her all up inside. She brought a deformed, melting hand up to his cheek. He leaned into the sticky, honey-covered touch even as his skin burned more of her away.  _

_ She was crying now, big ugly sobs that came from the heartbreaking fact that she was Icarus, standing too close to the sun. It was beautiful, and it was killing her. _

Sydney gasped awake to find Sofia’s worried face inches from her own. 

“Are you alright?” She asked in a hushed voice. “I heard crying.” 

Sydney brushed a stray tear away from her face with a sweaty palm, sitting up in her bedsheets. They were patterned with little bees and honeycombs. “Yeah. I’m fine. Sorry for waking you up: it was just a bad dream.” 

“I wasn’t sleeping.” Sofia replied. “I was watching Real Housewives. Anything is more interesting than that.” 

Sydney chuckled and the conversation lulled, Sofia sitting on the edge of her bed and looking at her with the concern of a parent. “It’s, uh.” Sydney explained. “It’s been a pretty volatile couple of months. I guess I’m still catching up on some emotions.” 

“I hear that.” Sofia said. “Probably more than you realize. I was out shopping yesterday, looking for something festive for the holiday season. When I was looking through the dress rack I saw an  _ adorable  _ green dress with a bow on the shoulder: I loved it, but I wouldn’t even let myself touch it.” 

“Why not?”

“Mother is very… controlling with appearances. She said that green always washed me out, made me look terrible: I wasn’t allowed to pick out my own clothing for five years when I brought home a pair of green jeans.”

“Wow. Sofia, that’s really messed up. You’re a grown woman, she shouldn’t make those kinds of decisions for you.”

“I know that. Now. I guess I was used to it already, though. I used to travel across Venezuela with my real mother and father while I was growing up, doing shows as their ‘genius prodigy opera singer’. I had very little autonomy then, too: I was always told how to present myself, what to wear, and what to eat by my parents. They controlled everything. Guess I’m only really realizing how messed up that was.” 

Sydney looked up at her friend in the pale moonlight that streamed through the window. “It takes a lot of bravery to face your demons like this. I hope you know that.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been working on  _ that  _ one since the nineties.” She sighed, smoothed her blouse, and stood. “You get back to sleep. I know you open the deli tomorrow. Give me a call if you need me.” 

_ “Give me a call if you need me.”  _ The memory of Dorian’s exact words and bright smile from outside the pizzeria hit Sydney like a punch to the gut. She smiled weakly. “Yeah. I will. Goodnight, Sofia.”

“G’nite.” She closed the squeaky bedroom door behind her. 

Sydney laid in bed and stared at her ceiling for the rest of the night. 

* * *

A chilly atmosphere of icy fog had swept over the Bay Area, but it wasn’t strong enough to hinder the relentlessly cheery lights strung up on every street, or the large ornament-studded trees stuck in every park. The decorations had been slowly materializing as December progressed.

“Take this. You’re gonna need it.” Hannah Busch-Harding said to her sister. She handed her a frosty glass filled to the very brim with eggnog. 

Sydney laughed over the soft babble and the holiday music of the party and accepted the beverage. Hannah’s house was swarming with people in fancy clothing and children hopped up on sugar cookies for her intentionally vague interfaith late-December get-together. A little girl bolted down the hallway beside them, shrieking in delight and chasing Hannah’s cat. Sydney took a strong pull from her drink: kids were adorable and funny, but she never had any idea how to handle them. Of course, with Hannah’s little monster well on its way, she was going to have to become the perfect aunt. She was already showing at three months in. 

Sydney was glad she had managed to patch things up with her sister a fair bit over the past few months. She didn’t know anything about Sydney’s alarmingly close brush with death, but that was a topic she was saving for later. Sofia absolutely had a hand in their reunion, playing neutral mediator and insisting they went out for drinks or met up for dinner. Sydney thought that maybe she was a little  _ too  _ into it: but then again, it was understandable that an immortal who watched her own family disappear from her life would want to fix any familial problems that her friends had. 

“And how are the lovely ladies doing this fine evening?” Hannah’s husband, who had been socially flitting from person to person all night, slid in front of the sisters. He was sporting the ugliest seasonal sweater Sydney had ever seen: she adored it. Snowflakes and menorahs held hands and danced in circles across the cable knit. 

“We’re just fine, Toby.” Hannah beamed. They were still so blatantly in love even five years into their marriage. “I was just getting my sister over here liquored up enough that she won’t reject me when I ask her to do the big toast before dinner.” 

“What?” Sydney sputtered. “Oh, absolutely not. What would I even say? I’ve got nothing prepared! Just let Nana do it like she does every year.” Someone popped a holiday cracker nearby as if to emphasize her point. 

“Not happening. I will  _ not  _ have her up there rambling for six hours!” Hannah gestured wildly with her own glass of virgin eggnog. “She always turns her speech into a whole thing about ‘the Lord’, and considering that only like, three people here are Christian, things are going to get awkward.” 

“We could always have Sofia sing instead of a dinner speech.” Toby suggested. He and Hannah had taken to the vampire like moths to a candle: they adored her kind demeanor and her stunning mezzo-soprano. 

“Oh, you think she should sing instead of doing anything.”

“I’m just saying: you got a gift like that, you share it with the world!” 

Sydney looked across the ocean of people milling through the house and caught sight of the singular Ashdown, looking like a living renaissance painting as always. She happily chatted with partygoers from her seat on the couch: she had someone’s chubby toddler sitting on her lap, playing with her braid. The fact that she was truly a people-person at heart was undeniable. Sydney didn’t want to drag her away from that and throw her up in front of a crowd again. Every time she stood before a mass of impressed humans, flaunting her talents, all Sydney could see was Godyth’s expression of approval like she had when Timur played the piano. All her children’s talents must make them feel like dancing monkeys. 

She took another extraordinarily long sip of her eggnog as her sister and Toby continued to quibble over the fine details of the party. “Yeah, okay, I’ll do it.” 

Hannah gave a very undignified fist-pump that did not at all go with her crushed-velvet blazer and bejeweled visage. “Good. Great! Babe,” She turned to address her husband, “Can you get her the, the uh, the clicky– you know?” Hannah mimed helplessly with her hands. 

“Car keys?” He prompted. 

She snapped her fingers. “Yes. Exactly, those. We have a present for you, Sydney, but I totally forgot about it. It’s in the Range Rover in the driveway: go put it on before the toast, I’ll get everyone settled in for dinner. We’ll be waiting for you.”

Sydney tried to protest but Toby was already pressing his ring of keys into her hands with a wink, and Hannah was already tapping her glass loudly with a fork and trying to corral the dozens of people into the kitchen and dining room. Sofia was looking out through the crowd on the other side of the room, an eyebrow raised. Sydney jingled the set of keys and mouthed  _ I’ll be right back _ , then headed for the door. 

The frigid air of a December night in Berkeley was like a slap to the face. She let loose a string of swears, breath steaming in front of her face, and made a shivering beeline for the packed driveway. Cars were parked wherever there was room and flooded out onto the street as well: her sister really didn’t mess around when the torch was passed to her for party-hosting.

“Range rover, range rover.” Sydney chanted to herself, wrapping her arms around her own torso and wandering through the cars. Damn her and her impeccable taste in modern fashion! This little sparkly champagne dress was cute and all, but it was  _ clearly  _ made only for standing around in well-heated parties and nothing else. Sydney wanted to wear a sequined jacket over it for warmth, but the textures just clashed so horribly she could not in good conscience force the two together. 

Eventually the heavy-duty utility car came into view, its windshield reflecting the lights strung up on the borders of Hannah’s house. Sydney jammed the key into the lock and rooted around in the front seat, teeth chattering in the cold air. Half-concealed under a puffy winter jacket was a plain black box with a single red bow on top of it. She hopped from side to side, trying to keep herself warm, and lifted the lid. Inside of it was a set of old fake pearl earrings, the gold trim they were inset onto flaking away to show the metal underneath. To an outsider they might look like cheap vintage jewelry you’d pick up at a second-hand store. 

Sydney's chest was tight. These were her grandmother’s clip-on earrings: she had worn them every single day without fail. She remembered being a young kid and sitting on the edge of her grandmother’s bed, watching her slowly and carefully put on her pearls before the whole family went out for Sunday brunch.  _ Grandma always took such pride in her appearance _ , she remembered fondly. Sydney held the gaudy earrings in the center of her palm. They were cold against her warm skin. Leave it to Hannah to come up with such a sentimental gift when all she had gotten her was an espresso machine. Sydney had come to realize as of late that while Hannah  _ was  _ flighty, flaky, and prone to last-minute change,  _ most  _ of their relationship problems came from her own end. She harbored so much resentment towards her sister’s monetary success and personality flaws; it was only now that she was starting to figure out just how much she cared about her. How much she  _ missed  _ caring about her in all those years they never talked. 

There was a cold arm around her waist and cold hand on her mouth, and she was being dragged backwards down the driveway, earrings falling from her hands and into the shadows. She entered panic mode immediately: scrabbling against the driveway in her flats and screaming into the palm against her lips. 

“For the record,” A regretful voice said behind her as she was pulled further and further away from the house, “I’m really,  _ really _ sorry. Orders are orders.”

Sydney’s eyes opened even wider and she flailed even harder:  _ she knew that voice _ . It was Timur. The Ashdowns had found her. 

She bit down on the hand pressed against her lips so hard that she felt her teeth break the skin and dig into flesh. Blood filled her mouth: it was just as cold as the night air around her. The injury didn’t stop Timur for even a moment, and his skin resealed itself within seconds. Sydney cried out again and again as the windows on Hannah’s house got smaller and smaller. Could they hear her muffled cries for help over the raucous sounds of the party and the music? Could Sofia?  _ She would have been out here by now if she could, right?  _

Two hands unceremoniously shoved against her back, and she toppled into the black fabric-lined inside of a car’s trunk. Her head cracked against the hard plastic of the floor, her ears ringing. The trunk slammed shut before she could get her bearings and the car vibrated to life around her.

“Timur, no!” She screamed, pounding at the trunk door in the pitch darkness. “Don’t do this! Don’t do this to me, please!” 

There was no response from the eclectic musical vampire that had kidnapped her. 

Both her shoes had come off now: lost in the trunk or on the street, she didn’t know. All she knew was that her sister would come looking for her when she didn’t return in a few minutes and would find a car door left open and no Sydney to be seen. The thought made the pain in her chest force its way into her eyes, which grew hot with panicky tears. God, the pain of losing a sibling was going to  _ kill  _ Hannah.

Sydney screamed her head off for what felt like hours, until her voice was hoarse. She kicked at the walls and roof surrounding her, trying something,  _ anything  _ to alleviate the crushing claustrophobia of the tiny space. When she fumbled around in the dark looking for a safety latch to pull or a tail-light to kick out, she discovered with muted horror that grids of metal had been screwed into place on top of anything that could aid her escape. Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to human-proof this car. She pulled at the metal bars so much that her fingers ached, hit the walls so hard she split her knuckles. 

The screaming turned to begging as time ticked forward and the car continued to drive. Sydney knew with a sick certainty that they were going back to the Ashdown manor: where else was there to go in the end, but back to the family? Back to Dorian, be him alive or dead?  _ I hope to God he’s alive _ . 

“Timur, I know you can hear me.” She rested her head against the plastic interior of the trunk and struggled to keep the panic from her voice. “You let me and Sofia  _ go _ , Timur. You know this isn’t right. Please, please let me out. Just let me go.” 

Sydney heard the muffled sound of the car radio tuning. Michael Bublé filled the air and drowned out her pleas. At least that told her he was affected by her fearful cries: if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have to block out her words. Sydney balled her fists and held them close to her chest, feeling her spiking anxiety continuing to drain the energy out of her body. This was a hopeless endeavor. Fighting was going to be futile. Fruitless. How could you hope to win against something that could lift several times its own body weight, regenerate, and convince itself you were of no more worth than a dog? Maybe it was better to make peace with her own death now before she was torn apart by a pack of hungry wolves in humanoid flesh. She pulled her legs up closer to herself and shut her eyes in the darkness, willing the world around her to fall away, pretending she was curled underneath her stifling bed covers instead of locked in a sweaty trunk.

_ Let me believe that lie, even if it’s only for a moment _ . 


	8. Chapter 8

When the trunk opened again, she burst out and bolted. Sydney made it about six steps and wasn’t even surprised when she was caught and wrangled like a skittish deer. She knew deep in her heart that Timur genuinely disagreed with what he was doing: but he was a tool of Godyth’s wrath and rule at this point.

He steered her with cool hands, chill as the air around him. They were exactly where she expected them to be: parked out front of the mansion, the lights glowing in the fog of the seaside night like cat’s eyes. She was marched up the stairs, the stone freezing underneath her feet. There was a flutter of fabric next to her and she instinctively flinched away with a gasp, but didn’t get very far. Hakim was standing in the shadows just out of reach of the ornate porch lights. The end of his cigarette glowed in the dark: he took a final drag and crushed it under his shoe.

“Do you really need to keep up that terrible habit? All it does for you is make your shirts reek.” Timur commented on their way up to the door. 

Hakim stared Sydney down and scratched at his trimmed beard. His eyes were a cool chocolate brown, the sclera a clear and unclouded white that was missing the predatory rage she had last seen him in. He had fed at some point between his fight with Dorian and now. “Yes.” He turned back to Timur. “Picked it up in the sixties and I don’t intend to put it down any time soon. Call it one of my creature comforts.”

“You disgust me.”

“Then the feeling is mutual.” 

They exchanged a long look that held no malice, only sadness. It was the gaze of two men with the heavy weight of duty and responsibility on their shoulders. 

They walked Sydney through the house in silence, making no noise. The darkness outside the windows made the whole place feel like a museum, not a home. It was hard to imagine  _ anything  _ pleasant taking place inside these rooms. They turned a corner she had never been down: a hallway lined with alcoves showing off different artifacts placed on pedestals. 

“Where’s Dorian?” Sydney asked after a few moments. Her voice echoed in the long halls of the house but got no answer. The grip on her arms tightened. 

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” 

“Please stop talking.” Hakim ground out from his place walking beside her. They descended a flight of wooden stairs. Sydney was tempted to keep going specifically because he asked her not to, but something about his strained tone stopped her. He sounded incredibly uncomfortable. She would say that maybe it was because he felt bad about trying to tear her open a few months ago, but in her experience vampires never felt too guilty about that. 

Timur knocked on a white wooden door in front of them. They were a whole level underground at this point: Sydney could feel it in the cold that radiated from the walls. 

“You took your time, boys. Come in.” 

Godyth’s even tone filled Sydney with panic. She stiffened, futilely resisting as Hakim opened the door and she was dragged inside. The mother and father of the Ashdowns were seated politely on one of several plush chaises that encircled a table on one side of the room. Several shaded lights hung from the ceiling, casting their light onto Lysander and Hermela, who were both leaned up against the wall on either side of the chaise. Lysander grinned coldly at the human that had just entered the room, while Hermela refused to look away from the floor. But the sight of four more vampires quietly waiting in a room for her wasn’t what chilled Sydney to the bone. 

On the opposite wall was Dorian. He sagged, held aloft by a set of incredibly thick steel cuffs bolted deep into the bricks behind him, anchored by multiple points so he couldn’t break away. His skin was sallow and completely bloodless: it lacked the bright, flushed, and healthy appearance she last saw him with. He looked like he was made of wax. Wan, almost translucent.

“...Dorian?” Sydney said in a soft, horrified voice. 

The vampire slowly lifted his head. It took his sickly eyes a moment to focus, to fix on Sydney. But when they did his whole body went rigid; she watched with paralytic fear as his sclera bloomed with bright red, his mouth snapping open and shut, fangs jutted downwards. He strained against his cuffs like a caged tiger, enraged. 

They had been starving him. 

Hakim and Timur took one of each of her arms and held her firmly in place between them. Sydney knew exactly what she was the moment Lysander slunk away from the wall and headed towards Dorian: she was bait. They were going to extinguish Dorian’s lofty ideals of equality by making him kill the person he had gone so far to protect in the first place. 

“No!” She screamed, twisting her wrists and leaning backwards as hard as she could. Lysander was putting a key in the fist-sized padlock that held the feral vampire against the wall. Dorian bucked and shuddered like a horse chomping at the bit. Gone was the man who sat across from her at the pizzeria, cracking jokes and smiling. This was an animal: Sydney could not think of a worse, more cruel way to die.

Then Dorian was breaking free of the restraints and sprinting full-tilt across the cellar, straight towards the woman who cared about him the most. And Sydney was leaning back as far as she could, head turned away, praying to whatever God existed in the universe that it would be a quick death and that, against all odds, the vampire would forgive himself when he returned from his bloody rage. Dorian’s arms encircled her waist and pulled her close to his body in a flash, knocking the wind from her lungs. He buried his cool face in her neck and Sydney’s heart was bashing its way out of her chest, waiting for the excruciating pain of teeth in flesh. 

The pain never came. 

A second passed, then another. She felt Dorian’s breath huffing against her neck, hard, like he had run a marathon. The frame of his body vibrated. He spoke hoarsely, lips brushing against her trembling skin in the quiet of the room. “Hey there, Raggedy Ann.”

Sydney let out a broken sob of relief: he was lucid. God, he was lucid. 

Hakim and Timur let out twin exhales of surprise, their grip on her forearms loosening slightly. She pulled herself free and returned Dorian’s embrace, crushing him into her. He felt so weak: his tall form sagged against hers like a wilting plant. 

“Fascinating.” Godyth said from across the room in awe. “Timur, kill her please, darling.” 

Two hands wrapped around Sydney's neck and she was choking, eyes bulging as she pulled at the fingers locked around her windpipe. His grip felt like fire.

Dorian made a noise of protest as she was jerked away. He fell to the ground, unable to support his own weight. “Timur, please!” He croaked, crawling forward. He wore the expression of a tortured man. “Please, Timur, please, you can’t,  _ please– _ ”

“Enough, Mother!” Hermela interrupted. “Timur, stop that right now.” 

His grip on her neck slackened and Sydney took a gasp of air, coughing and wheezing. The rest of the room was a deadly sort of quiet at Hermela’s unprecedented outburst. She looked around the room, her nervous expression not befitting her strong body and intense features.

Hermela turned to face a coldly-livid looking Matriarch. “Mother, I know, I know–” She licked her lower lip, unable to look her in the eye, “–You have good intentions. But you and Father, you’re– you’re tearing this family apart. Look what you’ve done to your youngest! Is this really what we’re willing to do to each other? Torture, for the sake of keeping our old ways?”

“How dare you doubt our initiatives, daughter.” Bernard said icily. His outward appearance of chipper professor had completely disappeared. “You know _damn_ well that Dorian was sick, _is_ sick. We are a proud people with a rich history that we will not _sully_ by fraternizing with our food! This is the only right way!” With each word he said Hermela’s shoulders sagged even more, cowing under his reprimands. 

“I can’t do this anymore.” Timur said suddenly. All heads turned in his direction as he fully released his grip on Sydney’s throat, backing up with his hands raised, fixing her with a scared and apologetic look. 

“Neither can I.” Hakim added somberly. Godyth looked at her son with an expression of utter betrayal. “You  _ used  _ me, Mother. You won’t stop  _ using  _ me whenever it’s convenient. I wasn’t told that I was being brought home to kill someone my brother loves. This is exactly what happened last time with Delphine, and I can’t go through that again. I’m sorry.” He tacked on quietly at the end, looking down at Sydney. “I didn’t know.” 

“It’s okay.” She replied. She wasn’t sure if it _was_ actually okay, but it was all she could bring herself to say. Dorian was still on his knees on the floor and seemed to be struggling with getting up under his own steam. She hesitated for a moment: did she want to put her blood-filled human skin closer to him than it already was right now? But then he gave a particularly strong shudder and she caved, getting her hands under his arms and pulling him to his feet, letting him lean up against her. 

In the span of thirty seconds half the room had turned against their own Mother and Father. Lysander stood behind his blood-parents, looking absolutely livid. Hakim and Timur stared him down with scared yet unwavering glares. Hermela looked back and forth between her siblings and her parents. 

“Don’t even  _ think  _ about it, Herms.” Lysander hissed. “You’re in enough trouble already.” 

But it was too little, too late: Hermela was backing away from Godyth and Bernard and coming to stand with Hakim. “I hope you know what you’re all doing.” She murmured to them. The room was squarely divided now.

Dorian sagged a bit, losing his footing. Sydney tightened her grip under his arms. “I got you, I got you, I got you.” She murmured softly, over and over, a soothing mantra for his ears only.

Lysander lurched forward like he was going to make a move at them. Father put a hand out, index finger up. Stopping him like a trained dog. “I’ll give you one chance to apologize.” He told Hermela evenly. “You two–” his gaze flickered to Timur and Hakim, “–will be punished regardless.” 

“We’re walking out of here. Unharmed.” She countered, almost looking disbelieving of herself that she was talking. 

“You know you’re forcing our hand, darling. We’ll have to call the Assembly in.” Godyth commented. She looked so uninvested in the situation, like it was a minor blip in the grand scheme of things and not her own children rebelling against her after hundreds of years. A muscle in Hermela’s jaw ticked. 

“Yeah? Good. Maybe they’ll see what a nightmare of a house you’re running, then.” She spit poisonously. “Let’s get out of here.” Hermela grabbed Dorian by the back of the shirt and tossed him over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The scenery whirled around Sydney as she was caught up in the motion of her newfound allies beating a quick retreat up the stairs and out of the house. 

“This is so stupid.” Hakim was saying, sounding every bit like a stressed older brother even as he was unlocking a jeep with his keys. “This is so, so stupid.” 

“Yeah well if you don’t like it, feel free to stay here and live out the rest of your life under Godyth’s thumb.” Hermela snapped. She chucked Dorian in the back of the vehicle, snapping her fingers at Sydney and pointing into the car. “Sit.” 

“Herms, don’t put the human next to Dorian. He’s having a hard enough time as it is: we need to get him fed or he’s not gonna have the strength to keep himself controlled.” Timur urged as he slid into the passenger's seat. Sydney fumbled with her seatbelt as Hermela took off down the driveway. She was the only one was wearing one. 

“What do you want me to do, Timur?” She snapped. “We gotta get  _ out  _ of here. There’s no time for pit stops, and if we feed the human to him he’ll be  _ livid  _ when he comes around.” With one finger she flicked on the high beams, illuminating the highway as they merged onto it. 

Sydney had been doing her best for the longest time to keep her mouth shut and avoid pissing off the car full of very angry and very scared immortals, but there was a bruise on Dorian’s cheek that  _ wasn’t healing  _ and she was very, very worried. “Hey!” She said loud enough to interrupt their bickering. “Will someone please tell me  _ what _ is going on?” 

Hakim, who was seated so close to her his pea coat brushed against her arm, spoke up. “Father’s been starving him.” He rumbled out in his baritone. “That was the plan from the get go, in a way. He and Mother figured they’d take the object of his most recent fascinations and use it to beat his sensibilities out of him. So when Hermela called them up and said he had a human hiding in his apartment, it was too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

“Yeah but I didn’t-” Hermela gathered herself, taking a big inhale. “I didn’t know they meant like  _ this _ . God. It was so… it was so messed up. I’m sorry.” 

Sydney, despite her mounting anxiety and full-body panic mode she was entering, was impressed. Hermela was a prideful woman with a strict code of dated morals. Her apologizing for her behavior demonstrated an enormous amount of growth. The torture Dorian endured at the hands of his family must have really shaken her beliefs. 

Timur pointed out the window. “Pull out down that exit, Herms. There’s a refill station. I’ll find something for Dorian there.” 

Sydney could feel a tension headache forming in the back of her skull from being in the middle of a bunch of superhumans who were plotting a murder right in front of her. “No. No way.” She protested. “No– no  _ killing!  _ Jesus!”

“Not a point of debate, kid.” Hermela said, turning onto the off-ramp. “Dorian needs to eat. Look at him, he’s trying to flatten himself into nothing next to you. If he doesn’t get something in his system soon he’s going to split you open like a water balloon.” 

She was right. Dorian looked pale and sickly and was doing his best to lean as far away from his human friend as possible, head pressed in between the window in the seat. His shoulders rose and fell with shallow breaths like a patient with a fever: the sight of it twisted her heart, especially since he was only like this because he helped her escape. There was an option Sydney  _ really  _ didn’t want to consider, but she had to: anything was better than knowing there was a corpse left to rot somewhere because of her inaction _.  _

“How much?” She asked. “How much does he need?” 

Hermela was silent for a minute. She knew why she was asking. “To stabilize him? Two or three cups. It’s not a meal, though.” She paused. “You could live without it, if that’s what you wanted to know.” 

“Okay.” Sydney said quickly. She didn’t want to give herself a chance to back down. “Okay, let’s do it.” 

Hermela slammed on the brakes and the car skidded perfectly into a parking spot adjacent to the gas station, concealed by the oak trees in the rural Californian hills. She jerked her head at Sydney in the rear-view mirror as she got out of the car. They headed into the gas station, the digital clock on the grimy wall reading 12:45. With an urgency Sydney hadn’t seen her operate with before, the vampire snagged an absolutely enormous plastic Slurpee cup and stalked back to the door. 

“Excuse me.” A sleepy teenager worker at the cash register said. “Excuse me! You have to pay for that.” 

Hermela whirled around. “It’s just a  _ cup _ .” She said forcefully.

Her murderous glare frightened the poor clerk, but he persisted nonetheless. Sydney knew his pain: he had to enforce the rules, lest he risk the wrath of his manager. It was the plight of every retail worker. “I’m sorry. But you have to buy a Slurpee to get the cup.” 

With a growl she stalked over to the Slurpee machine and squirted an extraordinarily small dollop of blue raspberry slush into the cup before slamming it onto the counter, looking down her nose. 

“That’ll be a dollar seventy-five.” The teen said meekly. 

Hermela rooted around in her pants for her wallet and pulled out an uncounted wad of dollars, throwing them in the vague direction of the boy before storming out. 

Sydney scouted the dark shadows for a secluded place and made a beeline for the side of the building by the dumpsters, away from the single security camera. Somehow she needed to get a lot of her blood into that cup, and she sure wasn’t going to do it anywhere she could be recorded.  _ How am I gonna get that blood out _ ? Her more rational brain wondered distantly, and pushed the thought out of her mind. The more mindless she stayed the less likely it was she would realize how stupid and scary this whole thing was. 

“First things first.” Hermela said, turning her head towards the car. “Timur, the first aid kit, please.” She didn’t raise the volume of her voice one bit, but the other vampire heard her a hundred feet away. He threw a small white box like a football, arcing it gracefully over the gas station. Hermela caught the fast-moving object nonchalantly with a manicured hand. “Alright. We have two options, Sammy.” 

“Sydney.” 

“Whatever. I have a knife in my purse and a good set of fangs. Take your pick.”

Sydney remembered Dorian planting a kiss to her wrist, numbing her wound. “Teeth, please. Just– I can’t watch while you do it.” 

Hermela shrugged and pulled her arm outwards, feeling for a vein on the inside of her forearm. Sydney concentrated as hard as she could on the rough texture of the wall beside her as she felt the vampire’s lips make contact, felt the unmistakable tug and tear of teeth in her skin. It was a nauseating sensation. The lip of the cup was pressed to her arm, catching the falling stream. The seconds ticked past and she grew woozier and woozier, her nausea doubling in intensity. 

All the way across the parking lot she saw Dorian sitting on the edge of the open trunk, Hakim beside him with his arms crossed. They both were watching her like hawks in the darkness of the trees they parked beneath. Even from this distance Dorian’s eyes were a violent shade of red, like rubies in the night. Somehow  _ this  _ eye contact felt more intimate, more personal, than ever before.

Finally Hermela put the cup down on the ground. Blood ran down Sydney’s arm and dripped off her fingertips, but the flow was expertly staunched with a suture needle and some lightening-fast stitches. Hermela rolled some gauze around Sydney’s arm then tucked the medical kit under one arm, ferrying the large cup over to her brother. With a groan, Sydney sank to the uneven concrete ground, head spinning. She pressed her palms into her eyes, taking a second to tamp down her emotions. She was tired, she was scared, she was missing a LOT of blood, and she was utterly terrified of the fact that the Ashdowns were sending for the Vampiric KGB to possibly slaughter her and the rest of the family. 

She looked over at the car. Dorian rose to meet Hermela, stumbling a bit and grabbing the cup like it contained water from the fountain of eternal youth. He chugged the whole thing in one go. Hakim patted his back comfortingly as he shook the last drops into his mouth. When he was done he let the cup drop to the ground, looked up at his sister, and gave her the biggest hug in the world. She looked stunned, but then Dorian was saying something Sydney couldn’t make out and she was returning the gesture, smiling for the first time in what looked like centuries. 

Sydney let her head fall back against the wall and looked up at the half-shrouded stars above her. It was a nice night. She was shivering in her little holiday dress and probably incredibly close to passing out, but her therapist always told her to find the good in situations. She probably didn’t mean this sort of thing (and would probably be in a state of abject horror at the current scenario), but Sydney applied the logic nonetheless. It filled her heart with a strange sort of calm satisfaction to have just seen Hermela’s and Dorian’s display of sibling affection. Maybe this was a good change for them. Maybe all the siblings would be closer and kinder outside of the toxic environment they originally dwelled in.

Dorian was running towards her now, at a speed nobody would expect anyone but an Olympic sprinter to have.  _ Oh, here he comes _ , Sydney thought, the voice in her mind a bit sing-songy. She frowned to herself.  _ I think I might be in shock.  _

He was already smiling: it was that beautiful, blinding smile that Sydney forgot she liked so much. Dorian fell to his knees in front of her, all bouncy curls, flushed cheeks, and glowing skin. The bruise that was lingering on his face had disappeared. He looked better. Healthier. 

“Hi.” Sydney said, reaching out and touching a curl that had pulled free from behind his ear. She couldn’t help the dopey grin that crept onto her face at his presence: she just felt warmer when he was around.  _ It’s nice being around nice people _ , she decided.

“I think you just saved my life. Can I kiss you?” He blurted out.

Sydney blinked a few times before weakly smiling. “Yes please.”

Dorian pressed his lips to hers and she grabbed his shoulders. Fireworks went off inside her dizzy body, brighter than sunlight. It was good, it was so good. Better than she ever expected it to be. This wasn’t a kiss with a drunk boy at a frat party, or a kiss with a coffee date she knew she wouldn’t be seeing again. This felt–  _ real _ .

He pulled himself closer to her with a soft sigh, and suddenly more than anything in the universe Sydney wanted to stay this way forever: no family drama, no death. Just the man who, against all odds, had weaseled his way deep into her heart. 

They broke apart to let Sydney catch her breath. 

“I should have done that a long time ago.” Dorian said, unable to stop smiling. 

“We should, uh... We should get coffee, sometime.” Sydney replied. She let her hand fall on top of his. “Go on, like. A real date.”

“I’d really like that. If we survive the next twenty-four hours I’ll treat you to a cappuccino.” 

“Hey! Stop seducing my brother!” Hakim called across the parking lot, a smile stretched across his normal haughty face. Beside him, Hermela mimed excessive vomiting. 

Sydney and Dorian snickered and headed back for the car. Hakim flicked another cigarette into the road and hopped in the car with everyone else while Hermela checked her phone. “Damn.” She muttered, cranking the car into drive and heading back to the highway. 

“What’s wrong?’ Timur asked. 

“Father froze our family accounts. I’m assuming he’s done the same for all of you.” 

“Ouch. Cut off from daddy.” Dorian remarked light-heartedly. He looked remarkably giddy for a man on the lam. 

Hermela grit her teeth. “Shut up. It’s  _ your  _ fault we’re in this position in the first place.”

Dorian put a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “Moi? And here I thought it was the whole ‘our parents locking me up in the basement and slowly killing me for disagreeing with their opinions’ that put us in this position.” 

His words killed whatever comradely mood the inside of the car had with his ham-fisted reminder that they had all just escaped an incredibly screwed-up situation. Hakim cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

Five minutes of agonizing silence passed before Sydney forced herself to break the terse atmosphere. “Hermela, can I borrow your phone? I left mine at my sister’s house.”  _ Because the man in the front passenger’s seat abducted me before I could get it back.  _

The phone was thrown over the front seat, landing squarely in Sydney’s lap. Hermela’s home screen was a tropical beach littered with starfish and seashells. Sydney expected something a bit more in-character, like a Las Vegas night skyline, or a fancify array of knives. She pulled up the number pad and jabbed Sofia’s number in, waiting for her to pick up. 

The line clicked. “Where is she?” Sofia sounded pissed on the other end of the call. “What did you do to Sydney?” 

“It’s me, Sofia. I’m fine. I–”

“Sydney?!” Sofia talked right over her. “Wh– where  _ are  _ you? Why are you calling from this phone number? Is she holding you hostage? Stay quiet for a few seconds if you’re making this call against your will.”

The car full of vampires that were plenty capable of hearing everything their worried sister said snickered. 

“May I?” Dorian asked. Sydney handed him the phone immediately, grateful to be rid of it: god knows she didn’t have the mental energy to untangle  _ that  _ mess. 

“Sof. It’s me.” 

“DORIAN?!” Sofia’s exclamation was even louder than the last. “What is going on over there? I thought you were dead!”

“...Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah! Obviously I didn’t tell your human friend until I was sure. But you know what our family’s like: fit the mold or fit a casket.”

“Mmm.” Dorian agreed. “Actually, about that… I think half the family just staged a micro-revolution? Yeah. They just sprung me from the cellar recreational room slash torture chamber. I mean, they  _ did  _ kidnap Sydney and try to get me to kill her with thirst-rage, but–” He looked at Timur pointedly through the rear-view mirror, “–I’m going to give them the benefit of the doubt and assume that was all part of the plan.” 

Timur mouthed a ‘ _ sorry’  _ to his younger brother. 

“Damn. So I take it you’re not at the manor anymore? I’m about twenty minutes away from it: I’ll turn around.”

“I’d avoid that place unless you want Lysander to rip your head off.”

“...Lysander stayed?”

“Of course he stayed. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Dorian and Sofia talked for another ten minutes or so, eventually settling on a place to meet up. Apparently Dorian had a good human friend who lived up in the mountains of Lassen National Park and was well aware of his vampiric nature. Hermela chewed him out for his carelessness with their secret, but it was admittedly a good place to lay low for a day or two and get their stuff together. Dorian tossed the phone back to his sister and draped an arm around Sydney’s shoulders. 

She yawned. The blue dashboard clock claimed it to be 2:00 AM already, which was just  _ ridiculous  _ because the last time she looked at a clock it was only nine PM. But to top it all off, she felt like she had just run a 10k. Her very  _ soul  _ ached with exhaustion. 

“You’re tired.” Dorian murmured. Without a seatbelt he was free to angle himself towards the human, offering her an open shoulder and wide chest to rest on. “Sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get to Lassen.” 

Sydney shook her head in disagreement but leaned onto him nonetheless. He was remarkably comfortable for a supernatural monster. “I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.” She muttered. “I’ve got so much adrenaline and stress in my system I’ll probably just stay awake until I’m fifty.”

Three minutes later she was out like a light, lulled to sleep by the gentle rumble and sway of the car. Dorian watched her sleeping face in silence: It was the first time he had seen her without the stress divet between her eyebrows. She was always worried about something, always dealing with or running from some force in her life. To see her free of it was a welcome change. He ran a finger over her chin, feather-light so as not to wake her. Hers was the face he had seen in his dreamlike exhaustion, the face he had realized he wanted to see more than anything else before he died.

“I didn’t do it for her, you know.” Hermela said. Her voice was such a soft whisper Sydney would have had a hard time hearing it even if she was awake. “I did it for you. Godyth and Bernard have had this coming for a while, now. What they did to you… it was the final straw. I just wish I was brave enough to stop it sooner.” 

“I know.” Dorian said. He petted Sydney’s hair as he talked. “But I’m thankful either way.” 

“I won’t pretend to understand why–  _ how–  _ you can bring yourself to care about something so fragile and fleeting,” Timur whispered just as quietly, “But I have more empathy for humanity than Father and Mother did. Maybe their beliefs never stuck to me as well as they thought. Or maybe we really  _ are  _ all in the wrong and we’ll discover that in the future. That doesn’t really matter. How I treated  _ you _ , my  _ brother _ …  _ that’s  _ what matters. I hope you can find it in your heart someday to forgive me.” 

Everyone in the car looked expectantly at Hakim, who was staring out the window at the countryside flying by. His eyes flickered up, surprised at the small crowd that seemed to be waiting for his heartfelt speech, and sighed. “I know we’re all doing apologies to our baby brother right now, but I’m just not up to it. I’m… I’m too angry. A few months ago I was living my best life sleeping underneath the starry skies of Wilder Ranch, and now I’m on the lam from the only people who ever cared about me because Dorian can’t stop handing his heart out to humans like candy on Halloween.” 

“Godyth and Bernard aren’t the only people who care about you, idiot.” Dorian said. “I care about you. We  _ all  _ care about you. And unlike them, it’s not just for selfish reasons.” 

“I…” Hakim trailed off. He put his elbow back up against the windowsill and rested his chin in his hand. “I know. I know.” 

The fragmented family fell silent, reeling from the wounds who’s century-old scabs had been ripped away. The car continued to rumble forward towards a fate none of them were certain of anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

Sydney was woken up twice in the five hours it took to get to Lassen Park. The first time because the car had grown frigid and none of the vampires noticed, and the second time to get some water and a sandwich into her that Dorian had bought after forcing Hermela to pull over. As Sydney eagerly tore into the BLT, Hakim quietly rolled down his window and pulled a face of disgust. 

“Wath wong?” Sydney asked, a piece of lettuce falling from her overstuffed mouth like she was some sort of gigantic hamster. 

Hakim looked even  _ more  _ disgusted. “Ugh.” He grumbled. “I can’t imagine having to chew all that up. Feeling it in your stomach. Bleh.” 

Sydney paused mid-chew. “...You take other people’s insides and suck them into  _ your  _ insides.” She deadpanned. Dorian broke into raucous laughter beside her, jamming a knuckle between his teeth to stop himself. Even Timur hid a smile behind his hand. 

They met up with Sofia twenty minutes later. She was pulled into a rest stop and sitting cross-legged on the hood of a car, a large paper map of the mountains settled over her lap. Sydney jumped out of the car on wobbly, half asleep legs, shouting her friend’s name. Sofia hurried to meet her, hugging her so hard she coughed. God, she had been so  _ worried  _ about her! 

“I brought you a change of clothes. I figured none of  _ these  _ guys would remember to.” She said warmly as Sydney unfolded a set of jeans in utter delight. She’d been in this tiny party dress for far too long. Not only was it uncomfortable to wear, but it would probably draw confused stares from anyone that happened to be around. Without shoes and with her dirty hair, she absolutely looked like a kidnapping victim.  _ Which I suppose in a way I am,  _ she mused.

“It’s good to see you again, Sof.” Dorian said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He turned his face to the sky, enjoying the morning sunlight. The sight made Sydney’s throat tight: she didn’t even want to  _ think  _ about the months he spent shackled to a wall in a sunless room. Hungry. Abused by his own kin. That had to leave a scar. Sydney wondered how many times Godyth and Bernard had abused their other children in similar ways. 

The door to the nearby building that housed the bathrooms slammed open, a trucker with a thick beard and a threadbare cap moseying out. He froze when he saw the five vampires lounging around between two cars. Seeing more than one vampire in the same place was always a shocker, considering how their unnatural beauty suddenly inverted into a sort of uncanny valley phenomenon. It was hard to imagine how five would look to someone unused to their photoshopped appearances.

Hermela and Hakim glared at the man as he inched past them, back to his semi truck. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough, driving away at a pace that was probably not safe for a vehicle that large. 

Dorian laughed and crossed his arms. “That’s the Ashdown kids for you. Scaring humans since BCE.” He slapped his palms together. “Come on, let’s get a move on. I would like to be up that mountain and away from prying eyes as soon as possible, please.” 

The troupe got on their way as soon as Hermela plugged in the address to her phone. Most elected to ride in Sofia’s car: they claimed that they could still  _ smell  _ the BLT in the air, but Sydney was pretty sure they were actually uncomfortable with the sight of her and Dorian sitting side-by-side, hands intertwined. 

A while later they all rumbled off the narrow mountain roads and onto a bumpy dirt path that led deep into the forest. It petered off outside a large cabin with a roofed garage and truck parked under it.  _ Aw man,  _ Sydney thought tiredly,  _ Great. This place looks like a horror movie set.  _

When they approached, a man with a gun kicked the door open and aimed it at their cars, looking sweaty and terrified. Sydney gasped and pressed herself lower, away from windows: out of all the people inside the car right now, she was the only one who couldn’t survive a gunshot. 

Hermela parked the first car and slowly got out, hands raised. “I really wouldn’t point that thing at me if I were you.” 

The man on the porch trembled, his shotgun shaking. He looked to be in his early sixties, with grey hair and patchy stubble. He pushed his spectacles up his nose with a dirty finger. “Freakin’ vampires.” He muttered. “Get away from here, bloodsucker! I ain’t got no quarrel with you!” 

“Aaaand that’s my cue.” Dorian said. He opened the passenger door and sidled out with as much confidence as a frat boy whose dad was paying for his grades. “Reggie! It’s me!” 

The man lowered the gun, looking bowled over. “Dorian? Dorian Ashdown?” The forest was silent for a few moments, save for the winter wind blowing through the trees. Reggie put the weapon down. “You old bastard, you haven’t aged a day.” 

Just like that, the tension was broken. Dorian gave Reggie a hug, the men patting one another on the back with the bright smiles of long-lost brethren. 

“It’s okay, everybody.” Dorian called. “Come on out.”

Reggie’s eyes grew wider and wider with each successive vampire that emerged onto the dirt driveway like it was the world’s most terrifying clown car. Sydney stood awkwardly in the middle of them, feeling very human. She imagined it must be a lot for him to take in. Reggie looked at Dorian with eyes as big as saucers before giving a defeated sigh and motioning for all of them to come on inside. 

The cabin was spacious and rustic, with wooden walls and fur rugs as far as the eye could see. The vampires, like a troupe of close-knit monkeys, all settled on the same couch: standing behind it, resting on the arms, and sitting in the middle of it. It made sense. All they had right now were each other.

Reggie took off his jacket and stoked the fire. “I’d offer you all somethin’ to drink, but I don’t have any people on tap.” 

“I’ll have whatever you’re having, if you don’t mind.” Sydney said tiredly. 

Reggie looked at her in surprise. “Son of a gun, a human. Thank god.” He shook her hand enthusiastically, relieved to not be the only blood bag in the middle of a bunch of predators. “Reginald Icard, supernatural expert extraordinaire, at your service. I’ll tell you, it is  _ good _ to see a friendly face.” He shuffled around and threw some ice in a cup, pouring in some bourbon after it. “When I saw that scary-lookin’ lady pop her head out of the car, I thought for sure I was a goner.” 

Sydney sipped her new drink with a grimace. “Mmm. Great. Drinking before six pm.” She coughed. “Got any, like… coffee? Or tea?”

Reggie pretended not to look irritated, setting his own cup down on the countertop and rooting through his cupboards. He was clearly a man of few necessities, and tea was probably not one of them.

Dorian worried his lower lip. “Reggie, I’m gonna level with you. We…” He used a finger to gesture to everyone around himself, “...Just got out of some seriously bad stuff and we need a place to get our bearings. We’re not asking to stay here for vacation. Just a night or two to figure out what our next move is.”

The older man let out an indecisive  _ whoosh  _ of air, rubbing the back of his head and looking at the small coven of superhumans perched in his living room. He looked down at his old friend. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the Red Assembly, would it now? That’s the only thing I can fathom that would cause y’all this much panic.” 

“Oh great, he knows about  _ that  _ too?” Hermela spat.

Dorian pulled a face. “Herms, please. It’s not like I  _ told  _ him, okay? This guy figured it all out by himself. We took a psychology course together at UC Berkeley, and he pegged me for a vampire on day one. Confronted me in the men’s bathroom, the idiot.”

Reggie raised his own glass. “In my defense, I was twenty-three and incredibly stupid. But I was right, wasn’t I? I knew all the signs, but I’d never met a real vampire before.” 

“How did you know?” Sydney asked. “I had no  _ idea  _ when I first met Dorian that he wasn’t a regular human being.” Dorian wandered over so he could sit next to her. Sydney loved that he liked to be close to her: it was a very primal comfort, proximity. 

“The Red Assembly prides itself on secrecy and total control of information.” Timur said suspiciously. “The human girl has a point. How  _ did  _ you know?” 

“That’s just the thing!” Reggie said. “The Assembly  _ is  _ great at what they do. Sowing the seeds of vampiric myths with no roots in reality, shaping a cultural idea of a vampire that doesn’t actually exist? Genius! But it’s impossible to keep a secret this big perfectly quiet. I, and a few others across the globe, we know the  _ truth _ .” He brought two fingers up to his eyes and flicked them towards Timur. “I  _ see  _ all sorts of things people don’t want me to know. The truth about vampires, the faked moon landing, the existence of time travel. I know  _ all  _ about it.”

“Oh, good!” Hakim said cheerfully, “He’s a nut.” He snapped his fingers in epiphany. “ _ That’s  _ why he lives all the way out here by himself! Dorian, you’re friends with a conspiracy theorist.” 

“I resent that label, but will not contest it because you could kill me with one finger.” Reggie replied tactfully. 

Sydney ran her hand down her face. “We’re getting off-topic. Look, guys. I just wanna sleep, call my sister so she doesn’t have a panic attack, and get my affairs in order. We _all_ need a day to compose ourselves. Because, honestly, I have no idea where we’re going from here! I’ve probably already lost my job, and there are _probably_ police searching for me because I was abducted, and–” She was working herself into a stress frenzy, already feeling her chest beginning to tighten from the swirling thoughts in her head. God, there was just so _much_ to deal with and she had _no_ idea how she was going to make sense of it all going forward. Dorian put a hand on the small of her back, and she focused on slowing her breathing. “What I’m _meaning_ to say,” She continued, “is that we _really_ need a place to stay right now that we _know_ is safe, where we can let our guard down. Are you up for letting us crash here, Reggie?”

Reggie looked like he was struggling to process everything that was just thrown at him. He swallowed hard and pasted a tight grin onto his face. “Who am I to turn down people in need? You can all stay for a few nights. A  _ few _ . Preferably one.” He paused to look at the tired human opposite him. “I’ll pull out the spare cot in my work room, make it a guest suite.” 

Sydney looked so grateful she could cry. The prospect of some peace and quiet, a place with a clean bed and a locking door after the last day of hectic events… it was too good to be true. She finished her second glass of bourbon and retired. 

After an hour of awkward drinking and semi-silence she slunk to the work room and crawled under the scratchy sheets Reggie laid out for her, feeling them against her bare legs. As she drifted off she knew the clan of vampires outside her door were running through various schemes, planning their next move, working on getting their money away from their family, and generally having their own separate panic attacks. But none of that mattered right now, because Sydney was warm, comfortable, and didn’t have anywhere to be other than here or dead. S

She couldn't have much right now, but she could have this moment.


	10. Chapter 10

Sydney woke up at 7:00 in the evening, thirsty and disoriented, to the sound of something shattering. With all the stuff she’d been through in the last few months it was natural that she immediately thought the worst: she tugged on her pants and raced out of the room, ready to bolt for a car and fully expecting Godyth to be standing in the cabin living room. 

She wasn’t. Instead she found Hakim and Reggie sitting on the floor, deep in a game of chess while Timur looked on from the fireplace. Dorian, who was seated at the nearby kitchen table and browsing his phone, looked up in surprise. “You’re awake?” He asked. 

“I heard a noise.” Sydney said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. 

Dorian sighed and looked towards a nearby closed door. As if on cue there was a loud exclamation of “OH, YOU WITCH!” from inside, accompanied by the sound of an object dully hitting a wall. 

“Hermela and Sofia are fighting their mother’s claim on their bank accounts. They’ve been at it for hours: they think they’ve gotten it unfrozen then Godyth files another claim to suspend it.” Timur explained. “It’s pointless: we all have separate accounts we can use that are disconnected from the family plan.” 

“I’m not going to let her WIN!” Hermela shouted through the closed door. 

_ Not a vampire attack. Just angry daughters.  _ Sydney let out a sigh of relief and flopped down on one of the dated leather couches. It smelled like stale cigarettes and body odor. “Have we thought of what we’re going to do next?” She asked everyone, face still pressed into the arm-rest. 

The room full of men looked at one another. Sydney realized that when it came to information,  _ she  _ was one in the dark right now. Reggie knew all about vampiric culture, and the brothers had lived it. She was the only person still grasping at straws, trying to stand back and see the big picture. 

“We’ll have to leave the state, that is certain.” Timur said after a while. “The first place the Red Assembly will scour is the California area. We need to go somewhere rural, somewhere untraceable for the next ten years at least. I’m voting for the wilds of Paraguay, personally.”

Sydney was at a total loss for words.  _ Leave California _ ?  _ Ten years? _ “ Wh– I– no! Not a chance! Are you insane? I  _ live  _ here, I can’t just pack up my entire life and give away a decade of my existence because some fanged Europeans are a little upset! I mean, we don’t even  _ know  _ if your parents actually called the Red Assembly in, anyways, right?” 

“You think I don’t want to stay?” Hakim said, a chess piece clutched in his hand. “I’ve lived here since before _your_ parents were born! But Godyth and Bernard _always_ make good on their threats, and the Red Assembly members are not known for their diplomacy. They see a minor problem and they squash it like a bug, for the good of the rest of society.” He slammed the piece down so hard on the board the rest of them jumped. It was uncharacteristic for his stoic and unimpassioned nature. If _he_ was upset to the point of physical violence, this was a bigger problem than Sydney thought.

“Has anyone really explained to you what the Assembly really is?” Dorian asked quietly. Sydney shrugged and gave a ‘so-so’ wave of her hand. Dorian sighed and set down his phone, opening his mouth to speak. Before he could, Reggie held up one finger and skittered away, coming back with a voice recorder and slapping it down in the middle of the table before gesturing at Dorian to continue.

“Before the Red Assembly there was chaos. Vampirism was starting to spread at a faster and faster rate as other vampires turned human inscriminantly. It was only through a small meeting of strong vampires in southern Europe that order started to spread: those vampires were headed by Zhuang, the oldest and first vampire in the world.”

“That’s where Godyth came in, actually.” Hakim added. “She was turned by one of the original members of the Assembly. This was all in Egypt, wasn’t it?”

Dorian nodded. “It’s why they were so willing to let her miss the last gathering in Korea, and why they’ll be so willing to hunt us down for her.” He resettled himself and got back to the original story. “Anyways. The Assembly used the plague as a cover, using brute force to unite our kind across the globe, moving from continent to continent. They enlisted those that would support their endeavor, and killed those who resisted the change in power. It’s how they got their name; the streets of Europe ran red for weeks, waves of Assembly vampires marching in and slaughtering protestors. Nowadays it’s common sense to respect the concept of the Red Assembly: it’s no longer a specific group of vampires, but an amalgamation of  _ all  _ our ideas and beliefs from around the world. To question it would be to question ourselves. And if there’s one thing vampires can’t stand,” he chuckled, “It’s being wrong.” 

Dorian’s last remark was terse. He hadn’t openly displayed much residual trauma from being locked in a dungeon for three months, but Sydney suspected that would change in the future. How could someone get over the fact that their own family tortured them just because they couldn’t stand the idea that their beliefs might not be right? 

Reggie slowly withdrew the voice recorder, clicking it off with a delighted look on his face. “The boys on the web are gonna  _ love  _ this.” He said with glee. “It’s been years since we’ve gotten fresh information on the Assembly.  _ You _ ,  my friend, are a gold mine of vampiric history.”

“You’re not going to publish a recording of me telling the history of the government of Vampirism to the internet.” Dorian said. It was not a request, it was a demand. 

His friend waved his hand dismissively. “Of course not. I’m gonna transcribe it, reword it a fair bit. If you’re worried about the information gettin’ out too far, don’t be. We got all sorts ‘a passwords, code words, VPNs, and security checks to get into our website. Can’t take any chances y’know: the government's always watching.” He tapped the side of his nose and winked knowingly. With a grunt he heaved himself off of the floor and pulled a laptop from a nearby bag, plugging in the recorder USB and typing away. 

Sydney scooted off the floor and sidled up next to him, looking over his shoulder. He shot her a glare and shielded his screen as he put several long and complicated passwords into different portals on a web browser. She furrowed her brow. “I want to see what you talk to others online about. About vampires.”

Reggie shrugged defensively as she drew even closer to his computer screen. “Probably stuff you know already. Feeding habits. Biological function. How to kill them.” 

_ One of these things is not like the other _ , Sydney thought with caution. “Wow, murder. I thought we left that to them, not us. It’s not like there’s enough of them on the earth to pose a serious threat to humanity anyhow.” 

“Ah-HA, that’s what they  _ want  _ you to think.” Reggie said. Sydney had accidentally turned onto a passion point of his. “Vampires are  _ superhealers _ . They can take bullets and still keep walking! Sure, it  _ seems  _ like there are only a few thousand of them right now but if it got up to ten, twenty thousand, they could rip through a whole country! A  _ small  _ country, maybe. Like Switzerland. But still!” He turned the screen towards her, impassioned. “We’ve been brainstorming methods to stop them if that happens. Explosive projectiles, hand-held electric saws. Something that could hurt you enough that you couldn’t come back from it: like decapitation, or being cut in half.”

Sydney watched him scroll through forum post after forum post of weapons that the site members had submitted, maybe of which has been ‘anti-vampire-ified’ and frankly looked ridiculous. She tried to think of something nice to say about it, but came up empty and kept her mouth shut. 

The man browsing the computer snorted. “I know, right? Pretty cool. Some of our members still think that some of the old vampire myths might have roots in real history. Obviously that’s not true, but it’s birthed some weird weapons.” He clicked a side-link and enlarged an image on a top post. “Like this. ‘The Full Stop’, as the guy likes to call it. Wooden stake carved into a cross, buffed with garlic oil, and wrapped with silver filament. Some people in the comments were taking it pretty seriously, but I know this dude. Twenty bucks says this is a joke post.”

Sydney squinted at the image of the over-the-top stake clutched in a man’s hand. Something about the hand was strangely familiar. “Sofia? Can you c’mere for a second?” She called, not looking away from the screen. 

Her friend materialized beside her. “What’s u– oh WOW that’s a… weapon? I think?” 

“Does that ring on the guy’s hand look familiar to you?” 

Sofia’s jaw dropped. “Yeah. Yeah, it absolutely does.” She gazed at the wedding band in shock. Staring back at the two of them was the unmistakable piece of jewelry that belonged to Hannah’s husband, Toby Busch-Harding. They had matching wedding rings. 

_ My sister’s husband is a vampire conspiracist _ .

Sydney had to sit down for that one. 

The rest of the evening passed quickly: learning that one of her friends had been in on her biggest secret the whole time was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Sydney did nothing else but eat the microwaved mac and cheese Reggie offered, send an ‘I’m not dead’ voicemail to her sister before blocking her number, and go back to sleep. She hoped against all hope that maybe as soon as she put her head on the pillow she’d wake up all drooling and disoriented on her sister’s couch, having just had too much eggnog at the party. 

She woke up to the smell of coffee instead. Not the end result she was looking for, but alright nonetheless. There was a knock at Reggie’s study door and she sat up in her cot, yawning and combing her fingers through her bed-head before giving up halfway through.

Dorian creaked the door open and poked his head inside. “You know how I said if we survived the next twenty-four hours, I’d buy you a cappuccino?” He held up a steaming tin mug. “All Reginald had was instant coffee, but I spruced it up as best as I could.” 

That warm feeling was back in Sydney’s chest. She scooched over on the cot and patted the bed beside her. “It’s a date.” She replied firmly, wrangling her hair into a ponytail with an elastic. 

Dorian slid beside her, crossing his legs and handing her the coffee, which she took with a grateful murmur of thanks. The smell was a delicious shock to her senses, pushing away the beginnings of the chills and exhaustion she felt since she had woken up. She hadn’t been on medication for two days now, and she was starting to really feel it. “I feel kinda bad,” Sydney admitting, taking a sip of her coffee, “You made me coffee but you don’t have anything to drink.” 

“If you  _ really  _ want me to, I could sympathy-drink some, but I really don’t want to pee mocha today.” 

Sydney laughed so hard at the thought she almost lost her grip on the mug. “Okay, I get it. I wouldn’t want to put you through that traumatic experience.” She brought a hand up to her forehead to scratch her hairline, and winced at the tug of the row of stitches in her forearm. The wound was still raw and now it thrummed with a deep, relentless ache. The effects of Hermela’s pain numbing finally wore off in the middle of last night, waking Sydney in the darkness. She forced herself back to sleep. The pain was no more intense than some of her worse period cramps: she could handle it. More importantly, she didn’t want to put another worry on top of the group’s already long list. 

But Dorian latched onto the quick flash of discomfort across her expression. He gently pulled Sydney’s sore arm towards himself, tilting it this way and that, looking at the thick row of sutures. “I’m gonna kill her.” He said quietly. “She had no reason to make a bite this big other than that it would make you bleed a little bit faster. It wasn’t worth it. I could have waited the extra few minutes.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Sydney replied. “And I’m not just saying that to make you feel better. I split my knee open when I was in fifth grade and had to walk a half-mile home to get help. This?” She ran a feather-light finger over the wound. “This was small potatoes. Besides…”

Dorian watched her with soft eyes, waiting for her to continue her thought.

“It  _ was  _ worth it. Seeing you like that, in pain, weak, not yourself? Dorian, it  _ killed  _ me. I never want to see you looking like that again. I hope you never have to be that strong by yourself again, because I want you to have me to fall back on now.” 

Dorian lifted her stitches to his mouth and pressed several slow kisses up the seam. The pain faded away. “Did I ever tell you what I thought about when I was locked up?” He asked. 

“Getting out?” Sydney asked sweetly, well aware she was being a smartass.

Dorian grinned and shook his head. “Well, yeah, obviously. But I also thought about you. A lot. About how your first reaction to me being a vampire was to push me to be a  _ better  _ vampire with good morals. About the way you stepped in front of my mother and called me a lovely young man. I realized something while I was down there, though it took me a while to get to it.” He looked at her matter-of-factly, a wry smile tugging on the corner of his lip. “I do believe I might have a bit of a crush on you.” 

“I should have come for you earlier.” Sydney blurted out. It was like a guilty secret she couldn’t harbor anymore, not when Dorian was being so honest, so tender. It burned away at the back of her mind until she couldn’t take it anymore. “I should have– should have bust down the gates with a car and just run in. I should have convinced the police there was some sort of drug cartel being run at the manor, gotten them to break down the door and _rescue you_. I should have _done something_ because I really care about you and I thought about you all the time, about how much I missed you, wanted to kiss you–” 

She stopped talking when Dorian crushed his lips to hers with the desperation of a starved man, cupping her face with his hands as if to drink her down. She slung her arms around his shoulders, pulling them closer, ever closer. It was never close enough for her.  _ I could get lost in this _ , Sydney thought mindlessly,  _ float off in this sea and just never return _ . It was a liquid sort of warmth that washed away the worries of everyday life. 

Dorian forced himself away, sliding backwards a bit. He looked up at a pleasantly hazy and confused Ridley. “Sorry.” He said with a half-smile. “I’m still at a pretty hefty blood deficiency. I don’t really want to do something I regret.” 

“That’s fine, that’s fine, I… _ wow _ .” Ridley was still reeling a fair bit. She’d had her fair share of highschool makeouts and impassioned college freshmen nights, but none of them felt like  _ that _ . “That’s… that was nice.” Her smile was a bit dopey.

The vampire opposite her began to radiate an overwhelming aura of smugness. He linked his hands behind his head and rested against the wall. “Why, thank you. I’ve had a good eighty years to practice and have gotten nothing but positive reviews so far.  _ Lots  _ and lots of positive reviews.” Sydney hit his knee admonishingly and he let out a noise of protest. Dorian turned his head to the door, tilting it as if he were keenly listening to something only he could hear. “I think that’s our cue, Raggedy Ann. My siblings have settled on where we’re gonna go.”

“I’m still miffed that I didn’t get to give any input on that.”

“Oh? Do you happen to have extensive knowledge about the off-grid cities of the world?” 

“That’s not what I mean, doofus.” Sydney darted forward and planted a kiss on Dorian’s cheek before he could move away, leaving him wide-eyed and grinning like an idiot. Together they headed for the living room, the human still nursing her coffee. It still threw her every time she saw them: vampires never failed to look eerie when standing next to each other. Like a bunch of animatronics someone had put a little too much effort into making look human and lifelike. 

“Sydney!” Sofia said, side-hugging her. “We’re driving down to South America as soon as we can. Fiesta!” 

“Hope you like miming out stuff to people you can’t understand.” Hakim commented. 

Sofia turned to her brother, eyebrows raised. “Naci en Venezuela! Inglés no es mi lengua nativa, idiota.”

Hakim mimed ‘ _ blah blah blah _ ’ with his hand, smiling when Sofia smacked it away. 

An artificial, placating expression slid onto Sydney’s face tightly. More than anything she wanted to stay in California and meet up with her sister to comfort her and interrogate her husband. She wanted to get her apartment affairs in order, pack up her clothes and formally flip her boss the bird. But after hearing about the Red Assembly last night she knew she couldn’t. As they spoke, there was a team of who knew  _ how  _ many vampires with a singular prerogative: to wipe them off the face of the Earth. They were out there somewhere right now. Time was of the essence. They would eventually track down her address, anyway. She had to be long gone by then, smoke in the wind. “Fiesta.” She replied weakly. 

“I put some gas in your car.” Reggie said to Hermela, “It was running on fumes.” 

“Thank you.” She replied. She looked a lot less angry than the last time Sydney had heard from her: she must have gotten control of her bank account. She nodded begrudgingly at the man. “You’re pretty independent and well-informed for a human. I can respect that.” 

“Glad to be of help. I wish y’all the best on your journey.” Reggie cracked open a beer and relaxed against the stove. “Still don’t get why y’all don’t just go to Enhed, but you must have your reasons. I mean, these two are  _ clearly  _ a pair,” He gestured with his pinky toward Dorian and Sydney, “you’d be perfect there. But preferences are preferences.”

The cabin was so silent you could have heard a pin drop. Reggie paused mid-sip, taking in the stares of the six people around him. He seemed to realize at that very moment that nobody in the room but him knew what he was talking about. “Ah, hell. I just assumed you were all in the know and that’s why y’all were on the lam.” 

“In the know about what, exactly?” Sofia asked in a very tactful voice. 

“If you don’t know, I’m not gonna tell you. It's a secret and I ain’t a narc.” 

Hermela cracked her knuckles. “Give me ten minutes with him, he’ll talk.” She reached for the conspiracy geek’s arm with one strong hand. 

Reggie flinched away. He was trapped like a rat between several intimidating individuals who could crack him like an egg. With a sigh he surrendered. “Alright, alright. Enhed is a town in Greenland. Man, I’m  _ really  _ not s’posed to be talkin ‘bout this.” He griped. "It’s off the grid, out of any plane paths, and it’s on preserved native land. Hardly anyone but the people that live there know about it.”

“Sounds like a backwards little fishing town. Why the secrecy, Reggie?” Hermela looked down her nose at him and used the full force of her intimidating presence. The poor man shrank even further back against the stove. 

“The town… it’s full of vampires. Undocumented ones, not on the Red Assembly’s census. And they’re living side-by-side with humans, working together.”

Hakim turned heel and hurried out the door, a cigarette already being lifted to his mouth. Everyone else in the room was stunned into silence.  _ Hunters and prey living together _ , Sydney thought, awestruck,  _ but not as hunters and prey. As friends. As a community.  _

“...Do they know how much trouble they could get in for converting vampires without permission?” Hermela said, dumbfounded. “For not submitting their numbers to the census? For openly revealing their nature to humanity?” 

“Why– why would they worry?” Reggie said. Hermela was still backing him against the stove unknowingly and he was sweating at the proximity. “The Red Assembly doesn’t even know they  _ exist _ . If there was a place for you to be safe from them, it’s in Greenland.” He blanched, looking around at the faces watching him keenly. “But you didn’t hear this from me. I– my friends and I, we’ve kept this quiet for months! I really wasn’t supposed to tell you. It’s one of our most closely-kept secrets!” 

Dorian looked at his siblings with an expression of dawning excitement and hope: it was one Sofia was tentatively mirroring. Timur looked between the two youngest Ashdowns like one might look at an unstoppable tidal wave. He knew exactly what they were thinking, and he did not like it one bit. “Absolutely  _ not _ .” He said, wielding his authority as the oldest with a puffed-up chest. “That is the  _ last  _ place we should go.” 

“Wh– are you kidding? This is everything I’ve ever wanted, Timur! Everything that we’ve all been missing!” Dorian protested. 

“It’s a ticking time bomb.” Timur insisted. “The Assembly would be well within their right to come in and level the place.” 

“We’re not exactly on the best terms with the Assembly right now, right?” 

“Yes, but that’s not the point!” 

“Even if you don’t agree with the morals of the place, you  _ know  _ it’s our best bet.” Sydney added in. “Out of flight paths, on protected land, in a country whose population wouldn’t even be able to fill up a football stadium? I don’t want to leave the states, I don’t. But being around people like Dorian, like  _ us… _ ” She pointedly sidled up close to her vampire and held his hand in a way that could not be construed in any way but romantic. “The risks that that comes with are risks  _ I’m  _ willing to take. Are you?” 

“Just give it a try.” Sofia prompted softly. “If you don’t like it, I’ll buy you a ticket to South America myself.”

Timur took a deep, steadying breath. By default the biggest decisions were always handed to the oldest: it’s the way the adopted Ashdown children were used to operating by now. But he was wrestling with his loyalties: on the one hand, he could crawl back to Ashdown manor, grovel, ask for forgiveness. They would be lenient with him because he was their firstborn. On the other hand, he could throw caution to the wind and follow the hippy-dippy kumbaya dream his brother and sister shared, give Enhed a chance, and risk violent and complete annihilation at the hands of the institution he had been taught to revere and fear for more than three hundred years. Vampires couldn’t get headaches, but this sure felt like one. In the end, it all came down to what he thought was more important. His life, endless and plodding and the same… or the possibility for change in the future. 

He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked out across what little family he had left. “Where’s the nearest airport?” 

Over the muffled sounds of delight and immediate chatter that followed, Hakim smoked outside in the chilly December morning air. Had he been living, his breath would be puffing from his mouth like steam. But he wasn’t, so the smoke had to suffice. It was an empty habit now: nicotine was ineffective and the soot didn’t stick. He found it comforting anyways. The cigarette burned down close to the filter, a small circle of heat amidst the cold air and his cold body. He let out a final exhale, watching it dissipate with the wind. 

The first few snowflakes began to fall, and Hakim wondered if he really cared about his pseudo-siblings enough to break the codes he had clung to so carefully in the two hundred years he had roamed the planet. 


	11. Chapter 11

_ Why do I always feel guiltiest in the TSA line _ ? Sydney walked through the airport security metal detector with sweaty armpits despite being unarmed and far from the most dangerous person in this building. But no words of logic would comfort her: she still felt like she was doing something illegal.  _ This is what it must feel like to be on the run from the law _ , she thought to herself as she smiled to the bored-looking security guard. He waved her through, completely unaware that she was a hot target for a murderous secret society. 

Dorian came up behind her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she put her shoes back on and waited for her luggage. Her thrumming anxiety backed off ever so slightly: it was a unique effect he had on her that she didn’t expect, but thoroughly appreciated. He was like an ambient light, pushing the darkness away when he was in proximity to her.

The human and the vampire hustled through the airport, hunting for their terminal on the large digital board over the noise of the intercom and the endless waves of the crowded hallways. Hakim and Sofia would already be sitting somewhere inside: they had come in staggered in intervals of twenty minutes so they wouldn’t be so clustered together and obvious. They wanted to avoid the unnerving effect of multiple vampires together that Sydney had unsubtly dubbed “The Prey Alarm”. 

Sydney stretched her legs from side to side, hopping in place to get some feeling in them. They had driven for seven hours to get to the San Francisco airport, and they had twenty hours of flying ahead of them, including a four hour stopover in Ontario. Was it worth it to get to the main Greenland city of Nuuk and hunt down a reclusive cult of copacetic vampires and humans? That remained to be seen. But one thing was for sure: flying this long was going to wreak havoc on her circulatory system. It also didn’t help that the ‘mildly-panicky and uncomfortable’ final stage of her medication withdrawal was kicking in right about now. To distract herself from the looming possibility of heading to Greenland and finding nothing but disappointment, she looped her arm around Dorian’s waist, holding him closer as he held up their tickets and compared them to the board.

“Flight’s right on time, carrot top.” 

“Mmm, good to know, Achilles.” She retorted. 

“If I’m Achilles then you’re my adorable heel.” Dorian replied, making ooey-gooey cuddly noises and smooching noises. There he went again, trying too hard to compensate for his fear with humor. The only time Sydney had seen him raw, genuinely  _ scared,  _ was when he was on his knees on the cellar floor. Clinging to the hems of Timur’s pants with red-rimmed eyes, begging with a heartbreaking desperation that he not kill Sydney. He wasn’t laughing then.

The memory made Sydney hold Dorian’s hand a little tighter.  _ The hand of my dating… partner? Significant other? Boyfriend? No, we’re not there yet. Not enough time has passed, I think. But then again _ , Sydney mused,  _ here I am trying to apply human stages of relationships to vampires. Who knows what, how their society has ruled they should court. Maybe he’s gonna build me a nest. _

“What’s rattling around in that head of yours?” Dorian asked.

Sydney looked up at him. “I think… if you don’t mind, I’d like us to be exclusive.” She said bluntly.

Dorian missed a step on the way down the hall, the rubber of his shoes squeaking. “I... yeah, if you want. I would like that. Would you– do you want that?”

“Very much so.”

“Ok. Good. Great.” He hid a grin of almost teenager-esque glee by pretending to look out a nearby window. He knew it was a dumb, immature reaction; someone of his age who’d been through as many relationships as he had shouldn’t be phased by this sort of thing. But it felt... different, with Sydney. Different from any of his other, more casual flings. This felt exciting. Meaningful. 

Their terminal was practically empty: Sydney guessed that not a lot of people decided to fly to a frozen, isolated, cut-off island for the holiday season. She already saw Hermela browsing her phone, sitting cross-legged in a big shawl and radiating ‘don’t talk to me’ vibes. A few rows away Sofia had her nose tucked into a book, hiding a good portion of her face under a beanie and a scarf. Despite the measures they took to keep themselves apart, both of them stuck out like sore thumbs: they both looked like they should be in the middle of a poster advertising the joys of airline travel. At that moment Hakim rounded the corner and took a seat in a row far in the back. He had gone full-in on the human disguise with a hat, a scarf, knitted gloves, and a thick jacket. The medium weather of the Bay Area didn’t really call for that much, but it was the thought that counted. 

The flight crew called for a boarding of the first class. They would have been in that line if Sydney hadn’t seen Sofia buying the tickets, nearly choked at the price, and negotiated her down to business class.  _ These people are too liberal with their money _ , Sydney thought miserably. It threw her for a loop to see her close friend dropping three times her monthly rent on tickets like it was nothing. 

She bounced her leg impatiently and willed time to increase its speed from a crawl to a sprint. It felt like any moment a group of sinister vampires would flood the airport, pointing at them with accusing fingers before ripping everyone’s heads off: in her head they all looked like Draculas, with pointed ears and flared capes. She shoved her hand into her coat pocket and held the little folded piece of paper within it tightly.  _ If this number doesn’t work I’m going to find Reggie and personally break his face _ , she thought. He gave them a landline number after a bit of pressure, saying to call it from inside Greenland when they got there or else the receiver wouldn’t trust their caller ID. He claimed it to be a direct line to someone from Enhed, but wouldn’t reveal more than that no matter how much Hermela flashed her fangs. 

It wasn’t much to go one: just a glittering chunk of hope half-buried in the soil. Fifty-fifty chance it was gold or just pyrite. 

Timur got there just in time for boarding. They staggered themselves in the line as well. But Sydney never let go of Dorian’s hand, even when the freckled flight attendant was scanning their tickets. The plane rumbled softly as they located their seats and shoved their suitcases into the overhead. Sydney frowned, checking her and Dorian’s tickets again as the passengers around her settled in.  _ Damn _ . They were in 4A and 4F: opposite sides of the aisle. Call her sentimental, but she would find the flight more comfortable by his side. 

“Looks like you’re next to Hakim.” Dorian noted. “Want me to switch our tickets?”

“No, no.” Sydney replied. She massaged her temple. “Now that I think about it, you’re still pretty hungry. I wouldn’t want to put you through the trouble of being inches away from me for the long flight ahead. I’ll be fine.” 

Dorian swallowed dryly and begrudgingly nodded in agreement. Sydney awkwardly clambered over Hakim to get to her window seat: the stoic vampire refused to move even to accommodate her.  _ Irritating, but not surprising _ , Sydney thought. Dorian sat opposite them in an empty row of seats, looking like a puppy locked outside in the rain.

Then the plane began to move forward, picking up speed and pressing her into her seat as it launched into the air.  _ I’ve been charged head-on by hungry vampires, faced a fall into traffic, and thrown in the trunk of a car,  _ Sydney thought miserably,  _ planes shouldn’t still scare me this much _ . She dug her fingers into the rubbery plastic of the armrests. 

“Statistics say that if you flew on a plane every single day of your life, it would take you nineteen thousand years to get into a fatal accident.” Hakim commented. Of course he was trying to comfort her: he probably heard her elevated heart-rate and breathing with irritating clarity.

Sydney shifted to look at him and temporarily forgot her worry. He was wearing a bright purple neck pillow and a sleep mask over his eyes that was embroidered to look like a little purple cat. “Before you ask,” He said, “they came as a matching set. And the store was out of all other colors except yellow. Yellow clashes with my complexion.”

“You sound too self-confident for a man wearing a cat mask.” Sydney replied.

Hakim made a grumbling noise but said nothing. Out of all the Ashdown kids she had come to know, Sydney found him to be the most subdued and impassive. He was the same stoic as Hermela tended to be, minus the bouts of rage and infectious self-confidence. If he wasn’t a morally-dubious immortal he would have made an excellent businessman.  _ Or maybe that’s  _ _ why  _ _ he’d make a great one right now _ , Sydney mused to herself. 

She watched as the ground grew smaller and smaller beneath her and gulped, closing the shade and turning her attention back to the vampire supermodel in a neck pillow beside her. “Have any more interesting plane facts you’d care to tell me?” She asked weakly.

“I was talking to be polite.” He muttered, head perfectly still. “Please do me the courtesy of pretending I am a tired, sleeping human, and leave me alone.”

Sydney nodded and smacked her lips. “Alright. Cool.” They had left Lassen so quickly and driven straight to the airport to catch the next available flight: they didn’t have any time to grab anything they needed. Sydney had an eleven hour fight ahead of her, and absolutely nothing to do. She let her head thunk against the side of the wall and prepared herself to grin and bear it.

* * *

_ This is it.  _ Sydney thought simply.  _ This is purgatory. Real, infinite, torturous purgatory.  _ She was  _ freezing  _ in the cabin, and had read through every single pamphlet and mini-magazine hundreds of times. If she looked at that same page about wild alaskan salmon one more time she was going to throw something in a fit of impromptu anger. 

_ Jesus, are they putting us in cold storage or something _ ? She wondered with chattering teeth, rubbing her arms. Did she really have to put up with this for another five hours? In most situations in life, you had the opportunity to physically walk away from whatever you found unpleasant: this was not one of those cases. She was trapped like a sardine in a can. 

With a growl of frustration Hakim shifted upright and pushed his sleep mask onto his forehead. 

“Sorry. Did I wake you up?” Sydney whispered. The cabin had been dimmed for a few hours now, the few passengers onboard already in dreamland. 

“I was never asleep.” He replied. “Your teeth are chattering so loudly it’s almost painful.” In a single crisp movement he pulled his downy coat off and handed it to her. She put it on eagerly. The collar smelled like cigarette smoke. Once she was situated and cozy, she leaned forward to get a look at her boyfriend across the aisle. He was genuinely, honest-to-god fast asleep: sprawled across the pop-out tray, drooling onto its surface. 

Hakim followed her gaze, his mouth quirking. “Just because we  _ can  _ sleep doesn’t mean we  _ should _ .” He explained. “I wouldn’t be caught dead looking that ridiculous.”

“Can’t be easy to look  _ more  _ ridiculous when you already have a cat face on your head.” Sydney commented from under the fluffy coat collar. Hakim did nothing but glare at that remark, so she awkwardly cleared her throat. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something, actually.” 

“What?”

“Thank you. For the leap of faith you made for me– or I guess for your brother. I can’t imagine how difficult it was to stand up to your family like that.”

Hakim folded his hands into his lap. “You’re right. It absolutely was not for you.” He sighed in a controlled, cordial manner. “But it had to be done. There was a limit to how much of Father and Mother’s conniving I could take, and that just happened to be it.”

Sydney nodded, then bit her lip, brow furrowing. “When you were standing up to your parents, you said that sort of thing had happened before. With.. what was the name? Daphne?”

“Delphine.” Hakim corrected. The name itself seemed to change the man; his expression grew more serious, his face seeming to age before Sydney’s eyes. “Another victim of our parent’s little games they liked to play. They never tire of stacking dominos just to watch them fall.”

“What happened?”

Hakim seemed to wrestle with the idea of telling her: they  _ were  _ in the middle of a cabin full of humans, anyway. But after leaning out into the aisle and checking that everyone within earshot was asleep, he conceded. Who could it hurt? He was already on the run from his blood-parents: telling a human his life story hardly seemed to matter that much anymore.

“I was born in Pakistan in1854. My life was good, simple. I was lucky enough to apprentice for a phenomenal sculptor: running errands, cleaning the workspace and the like. He was very particular about the type of clay he used.” Hakim looked down at his hands, as if he could envision them still caked in drying clay residue. “It was a brilliant ochre. Soft, too. It was my job to knead it and get it ready every day: if I did well enough I could use a bit of it to do my own sculpture work in my free time.”

“Sounds less like an apprenticeship and more like servitude.” 

Hakim smiled at his hands. “That’s the way it was back then. Anyway, one day we had some rich European sight-seers come to town. Most of them left, but one… she fell in love with the sights and sounds of our little village. And I fell in love with her. Delphine, with hair like golden straw and skin like starlight. I would leave her roses I cut from the gardens on the doorstep of where she was staying. After a few months of courting we decided to elope: I had become an excellent sculptor, good enough to sell my own creations to support myself. Friends and co-workers of my teacher already admitted I had far surpassed him, young as I was.” He took a deep breath, gathering himself. This story was difficult for him to tell.

“I guess that’s how the Ashdowns found me. They presented themselves as a wealthy couple with a penchant for traveling. They met with me, said they loved my work. After a while they offered me a boon I couldn't resist: a chance at immortality. I was young and foolish. A stupid, naïve man. I said yes. So they changed me.”

“Dorian says the process is painful. And incredibly deadly.”

“Not so much painful as it is long. It seems to drag out forever. And yes, only a small percentage of those who undergo it survive it. I was locked in a small room for weeks: feverish, hallucinating, vomiting so much blood I was sure I had none left to give. But the change took: it worked, and I was so hungry it hurt. What…” His fingers clenched tightly in on themselves. “What happened next was out of my control. Delphine, she somehow found where I was staying and unlocked the door from the outside. She looked so incredibly happy to see me. And then I tore her to pieces.”

Sydney listened, afraid to move a muscle lest this emotionally-stifled vampire suddenly backtrack on telling her the story and close in on himself again. His cold exterior was making more and more sense now. 

“She died in my arms and my love for the city died with it.” Hakim continued. “With nothing to tie me down there, I went with the Ashdowns. I met Timur and trotted the globe with them for centuries. It was only after fifty years that I found out Delphine hadn’t wandered to my hiding place: she was  _ led _ by Bernard. He knew that I wouldn’t come with them unless she was out of the picture. But by the time I knew, I had convinced myself I didn’t really love her. To think otherwise… it hurt too much. It still hurts.” 

“I can’t believe they did that to you.” Sydney said, horrified. “To manipulate you like that… it’s inhuman. The pain they caused all for the sake of adding a talented artist to the ranks of their family. So incredibly cruel. How you  _ ever  _ thought that was normal is beyond me.”

“So I am putting together as of late.” Hakim replied. “But we all have parental grievances, don’t we?” 

__ “My parents flushed my goldfish down the toilet when he died and told me he swam back to the ocean: when I was eleven I learned that goldfish only live in freshwater. Does that count?” Sydney asked in a half-assed attempt to get him to smile. The agony of the story Hakim had just relived pressed down on his shoulders like a physical weight. Sydney was well-practiced in tamping down her own pain, but when it came to the pain of others? She was the first to jump in, to try and alleviate it.

Her humor seemed to work somewhat. He let out a single dry laugh. “Your world is small, Sydney. Uncomplicated. It is refreshing.”

“I elect to take that as a compliment. Thank you.”

The vampire readjusted his pillow. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve done enough emotional talking to last me the rest of the decade. Try and get some sleep, human.” He pointedly turned away from her. 

Sydney nestled into the coat that was so big she was almost lost in it and tried to relax. Eventually she drifted off to the dull roar of the engines. In her fitful sleep she dreamed of wet clay, foreign skies, and women with hair like golden straw.


	12. Chapter 12

The flight stopover was, thankfully, very speedy. Sydney spent most of it in the food court, sitting cross-legged in a plastic chair like some sort of jet-lagged goblin and shoveling battered fish into her mouth. Life had been taking some pretty hard swings at her lately and she found her energy stores deploying more quickly than usual. Vampire drama required a lot of calories, she learned. 

The shorter flight on the smaller airplane let passengers switch seats with ease. Sydney had cornered Dorian in the airport beforehand, badgering him with questions until he gave her honest answers: yes, he was extraordinarily hungry. No, he was nowhere near rabid. And yes, he would love to sit next to her no matter how great her pulse sounded. 

They rode out the shorter plane ride together, their stomachs both tied in equally complex knots when the icy shores of Greenland came into view. Sydney leaned out into the aisle to see if any of the other siblings were nervous as well. The only one she could see was Timur, and he looked as nonplussed as could be: listening to music on his headphones and doing sudoku puzzles in a pamphlet. He caught her staring and gave her a genuinely confused look. Sydney huffed: either nobody but her and Dorian were worried, or they were all just extremely good at masking their emotions. She put her money on the latter.

“I’ve never been this far from home.” Sydney told Dorian as the plane bumpily touched down on the icy roadway. “Technically, I’ve never left the US until now.”

Dorian looked surprised. “Why? There’s a whole world out there full of amazing things to see.” 

The plane stopped at the terminal dock and people all around them got up, stretching. “Because,” Sydney explained as she stood and rolled her shoulders, “the whole world out there full of amazing things? Turns out it’s  _ really expensive  _ to explore, and not attainable on a minimum wage salary.” 

The Nuuk airport was tiny. Incredibly tiny. They carried off their luggage and arrived at the front doors within two minutes. Sydney hopped up and down in the cold air, waiting for the bus that made rounds to and from the pickup zone. Dorian rubbed at her arms as best he could to try and heat her, but after being out in the snowy air for ten minutes he was roughly as warm as a popsicle. 

They all sat uncomfortably in the empty bus as they rode into town, staring at one another. Now that she was here, Sydney was more uncertain of their actions than ever. This trip felt like a poorly-planned impulse move. 

Timur gave a friendly greeting in Greenland’s native tongue to the driver, who proceeded to ignore them all. A warm welcome indeed.

Nuuk bustled with as much activity as you would expect a town with 17,000 people in the middle of a snowstorm to have. Sydney slipped and slid on the cement sidewalk as they hurried to the city’s hotel. The plan was to use the landline there to call the mystery number: if nothing came of it, they'd rent some rooms for the night and get the next flight out.  _ There would be nothing more demoralizing than failure,  _ Sydney thought as they blustered into a tiny lobby. She wasn’t sure which one she wanted more right now: to be home, or to be safe.

“Hello there.” Timur said to the receptionist in fluent Danish: he was the only one who spoke it, and inadvertently made himself the group translator because of it. “We need to call a friend. Do you have a phone we could borrow _? _ ”

She didn’t even look up from the book she was reading. “Over by the coffee.” She replied, pointing with a long finger at a refreshment bar on the opposite side of the room. “Dial 454 before you put the number in. That’s our code to unlock it for use.”

Sydney handed him the folded square of paper from her pocket as he passed. He plugged in the number and everyone waited tersely for a response. 

The line clicked on, and Sydney’s heart leapt into her throat. She clung to the hem of Dorian’s sleeve. 

“ _ Hvad _ ? Hello? Who is this?” Came a brusque woman’s voice from the opposite end. It was thickly accented, the English choppy.

Timur spoke quietly, glancing over his shoulder at the group behind him. “Hello. We were given this number by a trusted friend. Is this Enhed?”

There was a pregnant pause. “I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.” The woman said coldly. 

“Please.” Timur said. “We’ve flown all the way from California to get here. We’ve got a lot of tired refugees and one exhausted warmblood.”

Another pause. The caution was understandable, but the waiting was excruciating. Finally the woman gave a huff. “Where are you calling from?”

“Hotel Nordbo.”

“Head down the street towards the water, two blocks. You’ll see a bait and tackle shop: small, easy to miss. Looks closed. Go inside: Gunnar will sort you out.” Then the line went dead. Timur dictated what he had learned to the group.

Sydney groaned and pulled Hakim’s hood tighter around her face in exasperation. “This is turning into a nightmare scavenger hunt.”

The shop  _ was  _ difficult to find. They passed it twice before a tackle display behind a window caught Sofia’s eye. The little bell above the door rang as they entered, person by person, through the narrow doorway that creaked with age. A man behind the counter with an old and weathered face squinted at him. He clutched something out of sight when he saw the vampires, and relaxed when a slightly-thawing Sydney wandered into view holding Dorian’s hand. 

“Sloan called ahead.” The old man said, scrutinizing them. Sydney felt like she was having her soul evaluated, and she did not like it one bit. “You’re obviously the group she meant. So…” He leaned on the clear countertop that served as a display of fish hooks and lures. “You want to get to Enhed? I can take you.” He rubbed his wrinkled fingers together. “For a price.”

Hermela stepped forward, grumbling and patting her jacket for a wallet. “Always a catch with these things, isn’t there?” She dropped a few crisp twenties into the man’s waiting palm. 

“Your patronage is much appreciated.” With a snap of his fingers he pointed to a door in the back of his shop. “Follow me.” 

He led them back out into a garage that housed a gigantic jeep with snow-chains and a tarp-covered cargo bed attachment. The man threw the tarp back. “Immortal ones, in the back. Warm ones, up front with me.”

“Sorry old man.” Dorian smiled but it did not reach his eyes. “But I go where she goes.” His grip on Sydney’s hand was tight: she got the feeling that he didn’t trust this man or this situation. To be fair, neither did she. 

The man just laughed, crows feet pulling at his eyes. “Old man!” He cackled. “Rich words coming from you, unchanging boy. Alright. You clearly care for her: get in the front. The rest of you can’t fit so don’t get any ideas.”

Sofia shrugged and clambered into the back of the cargo bed, nonplussed with the implication that she was going to be transported around in the cold weather like shipping goods. Hermela and Timur hopped in as well as the warmbloods got in the front. Hakim ran a finger along the edge of the cargo carrier: it came up dusty with dirt and he pulled a long-suffering face before hopping in and yanking the tarp over all of them.

As they pulled out of the garage and onto the city streets, Sydney admitted to herself that this was a pretty genius way to get vampires around. Nobody expected anybody to be hanging out in the back of a truck when it was 10 degrees outside. The radio by Sydney’s knees played some scratchy song with lyrics she couldn’t understand, and a dreamcatcher tied to the rearview mirror swayed to the movement of the car. 

“You two married?” The old man prompted once they got out of city limits and turned onto a snow-encrusted and unpaved road. 

“Oh boy, jumping right into the thick of it, huh?” Sydney said with a mortified grimace.

The man shrugged. “Making conversation.”

“Maybe let’s make silence instead.” Sydney sank lower in her seat and tried to ignore the implications of the man's observation. She was _way_ too tired to be thinking about that sort of thing.

Two hours and an incredible amount of awkward silence later, the man’s truck rolled to a halt on the snow-encrusted grasslands of the coastal area. He parked and gestured for them to hop out with shooing motions. 

Sydney frowned. “But we’re in the middle of nowhere. I thought you were taking us to Enhed.”  _ Was this a trap _ ?

“I go no further than this.” The man said. “Personal preference. Too many undying lurking around. Your town–” He pointed out the windshield over the steep snow-covered hill a few hundred feet away, “–is past that hill.”

Dorian and Sydney hopped out, banging on the walls of the cargo carrier. Hakim flung the tarp off and was out in an instant, brushing debris off himself with disdain.

“He says Enhed is over that hill.” Dorian told his family. They exchanged knowing looks, making a decision Sydney was having a hard time following. Maybe all their extra years alive had left them with more experience in fishy situations than she had.

The man noted her confused look and gave another cackling laugh. “Your undying do not believe me. Think it’s a trap. Drop you off here, leave you to get lost.” He snapped his fingers at Hermela and pointed at the hill. “You’re strong. Go! Run and see!”

Hermela looked seconds away ripping the man a new one. But Timur gently shook his head and she growled before making off like a shot up the hill. She moved through the knee-deep snow like it was nothing, plowing a deep path behind her.  _ Gotta love that infinite vampire stamina _ , Sydney thought. 

Hermela returned a minute later, hair speckled with snow. “He was telling the truth.” She said breathlessly. Vampires didn’t lose their breath from running: whatever she saw from the top of that hill must have knocked the air out of her lungs.

The man clapped his hands together. “Good! See? I wouldn’t lie: I’m too old, too tired to. Now excuse me. I’m going to go home and eat my soup.” He pushed through the pack of vampires like he was shoving aside rambunctious children, hopping in his car and driving off. The five immortals and one human held their luggage in their arms, standing deep in the snow in the middle of a tundra without a sign of civilization anywhere. 

“What did you see up there?” Sofia asked excitedly. 

Hermela fixed with a slow-growing, smug grin. “Come see for yourself.” She took off once more at a sprint, Sofia hot on her heels with a delighted smile. Timur sighed and tucked their forgotten luggage under each arm, then he too was speeding up the hill like a humanoid snowplow. Even Hakim relented his ‘relaxed and casual’ stance to run full-tilt up the hill in a blur of fluttering scarf.

Sydney looked on with a little bit of awe, sure, but mostly just irritation. She was  _ human _ , dammit! Slogging through all that snow was going to be a nightmare. “Buckle up, Diyonesius.” She said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “This is gonna be a long–”

Dorian slung her over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry despite her surprised cry. He dashed up the hill carrying the full weight of another person like it was nothing, laughing into the wind as Sydney shrieked in equal parts dismay and delight. Before she knew it, Sydney was deposited back on her feet at the hill’s crest. The vampires stood in a line, jaws open and expressions agape at the sight below them.

Enhed was  _ real _ . A small town sat in the grassy valley below them, built around a wide ocean inlet that housed many small canoes at its mouth. There were old and new buildings alike, all off the ground by a few feet and constructed from heavy, salt-stained wooden planks. Sydney saw a long community hall at the end of the inlet, a massive bonfire pit in front of it. Thin columns of smoke came from the dozens of squat houses below, and she could just make out the little smudges of people–  _ people and vampires–  _ moving in the unpaved and snowy streets. It was the very picture of a cheery little fishing town.

“Whoa.” Dorian breathed. 

“El Do-freakin-rado.” Hermela commented. For someone who was originally skeptical of this plan, she was sounding awfully impressed. 

Sydney’s heart swelled at the sight. There, down below them, was the direct contradiction to the vitriol Godyth and Bernard had been filling their children’s hearts with for hundreds of years. Real, solid proof in the light of day. 

“We should probably go introduce ourselves.” Timur suggested. The group took it slower this time: without saying anything they all had agreed that rushing a camp half-full of dangerous creatures like themselves was not a great idea. Dorian carried Sydney like a bride despite her protests, exaggerating tripping and nearly falling with her in his arms. She screeched and clutched his neck like a koala, making Hermela break out into amused chuckles beside them. Sydney insisted it wasn’t funny, but found herself smiling nonetheless. Something about the fact that the mystery village was real and not just a myth made them all a little giddy.

When they were less than 100 feet away they noticed the distinct change in the village’s atmosphere. People were hurrying back to their homes, ushering children inside. Eventually the only people left on the street were four individuals holding fishing spears and standing in a long row. Watching them. Waiting for their approach at the edge of their idyllic community. 

The Ashdowns stopped in a terse line a few feet away from the Enhed natives. Snowy-laden wind blew through the valley and Sydney gave a hard shiver: the terse standoff made her insides colder than the weather did. One of the figures stepped forward, lowering their hood: grey hair spilled out from beneath it. She was an older woman with graceful age lines across her face and skin so glowing it could only belong to a vampire. 

“Hello, strangers.” She said. Timur stiffened: It was the same voice he had heard on the phone. “I am Sloan. You have found our community: it is a shelter for those who seek the peace of unity not provided by today’s laws. Do you come as friends, or enemies?”

“Friends, if you will have us.” Timur replied. 

A grin, slow and wise and knowing, crept onto Sloan’s face. “We shall have you.” She held out her arms and the people behind her also dropped their hoods, expressions friendly: two humans and a vampire, all of equal station and appearance. 

“Welcome, friends.” Sloan said. “Welcome to Enhed.” 


	13. Chapter 13

As soon as Sloan had given the all clear, the spear wielders behind her gave shouts and ran back through the main village road. Their cries seemed to be an indicator that it was safe to come out: people slowly opened up their doors and peered through their windows at the party of strangers.

“Please.” Sloan said, gesturing to a nearby cabin with a domed roof, about the size of a large mobile trailer. “Join me.” She trudged across the snow, setting her spear down against the wall and heading inside the building.

“Thank god.” Sydney sighed. “A chance to get out of this cold.” She stomped her boots free of snow on the top stair before throwing open the heavy door. The inside of the cabin was an interesting combination of modern living and old inuit homes paces. There was a desk set up in the corner with a laptop and single landline phone, and a large iron furnace from hundreds of years ago installed in the back, next to a low cloth-covered table and a bed strewn with furs and knitted throws. Oddly enough, alongside the oil lanterns there were electric bulbs glowing brightly and hanging from the ceiling. It was cozy: exactly the type of place you could curl up and take a nap in.

Dorian, who had just followed Sydney inside, pointed to the bulbs. “You get electricity all the way out here?” 

Sloan threw some sort of grassy cake into the opening of her furnace and grunted in affirmation. “We make it ourselves. You can see that with your own eyes, but first things first.” She flung a match into the furnace and set a dented tea kettle on a burner. “Tea for you.” Sloan explained, pointing to Sydney. “You look frozen. Now everybody please sit, you’re making me nervous.” 

Sydney nodded distantly: everything was happening so fast. Now there was  _ another _ vampire she had met who was addressing her like a person, not a walking meal. Whatever was going on in this village, she liked it. She was handed a clay mug full of tea: it was grassy and spicy-smelling, excellent for warming her freezing hands and lungs. Sloan sat cross-legged on a pillow at the other end of the table, scrutinizing the motley crew that had dumped themselves at Enhed’s doorstep. “You certainly made a spectacle of yourselves,” She said. “Marching up to our community in a row like that. I reckon everyone had heard about you all by now.”

“What were we supposed to do?” Hakim said dryly. “Come down one by one bearing gifts of frankincense and myrrh?” 

Sloan fixed him with a heavy stare. “You, I suspect, do not want to be here. But that is no matter. I,” She gestured to herself, “am Sloan. Last living founder of Enhed, and community chief. Who might you all be?”

Everyone introduced themselves with varying stages of enthusiasm: Dorian, Sydney, and Sofia with tired smiles, and Hakim, Timur, and Hermela with stony exteriors. It was so transparent to see which people around the table doubted this place. 

“I have a question, before anything else.” Hermela said. Her eyes were intense: she stood firmly on the edge between only being here out of love for her brother, and being here because she truly wanted to. “You are risking so much just by  _ existing _ here. Is it worth it?”

Sloan sighed. “I was  _ going  _ to give you all an introductory speech and some reading material, but I suppose you all might need something a little more succinct, a little more visceral.” She heaved herself off the floor with a grunt. “To answer your question, yes. Always yes. Come on. I’ll give you all the tour.” 

Sydney desperately chugged her tea as everyone left the room, determined to get some warmth into her body and refusing to wince even as she scalded her tongue.

* * *

There was no other way to describe Enhed other than alive. It was alive, it was bright, and it was flourishing.

In the entire fishing town there lived about 200 people: humans and vampires, side by side. Sometimes together. But what surprised the Ashdown children most of all was the people’s  _ behavior _ . They watched Sloan leading the touring group with open curiosity and something even akin to warmth, chattering to one another in Greenlandic and Danish. In everyday life, it was commonplace to draw looks of a primal fear from people whose eyes landed on a brood of undying superhumans. It was off-putting, but not unnerving, to see neutral observation in the stead of terror. 

Hakim was loudly skeptical as they worked their way through the village, looking at fish drying racks and modern freshwater distillers.

“This is a nice pipe dream.” He said from the back of the group. “Not functional, but nice. You can’t put feeders and food under one roof and expect the feeders to  _ act  _ like food. We’re predators: nobody is immune to the food chain.” Clearly the biggest issue that rankled him was the idea that he was going to be forced to trudge around and behave like a gentle and weak human being. He believed to do that was to lower himself. It was plain as day on the sneer on his lip as he watched two people, mortal and undying, sitting and treating furs for coats: vampires never get cold so they never had a need for insulation in the first place. The gesture was purely human.

“Hmm. I’ll take your opinion into account. But considering we’ve been growing in number every year since the 1800s, it won’t mean much.” Sloan replied, utterly unbothered. There was a burst of static from her pocket and she pulled out a short-distance radio, twisting the knob and listening to a voice chattering in rapid Greenlandic. She grinned at the group. “Our hunting troupe’s back.” 

They wove through the village back-streets, dodging children running through them with space ranger action figures, making flying noises. One of them bumped straight into Hermela, who stared down at them coldly. Her visage didn’t throw the kid one bit: he barked out a nonplussed apology and toddled off to rejoin his friends. Hermela frowned at the idea of weak, flimsy, fleshy children wandering around unsupervised through vampire-ridden streets.

There was commotion up ahead. Enhed villagers gathered around the head of a trail worn into the tundra ground that ran all the way up another steep and snow-capped hill. Sydney was about to ask  _ why _ everyone was standing around in this damned nose-biting cold but before she could, a loud whoop echoed through the valley and a figure crested the hill. Then another. Then another. Each of them held a Caribou bigger than they were over their shoulders. Sydney gasped in understanding, a smile breaking over her face. It was a hunting troupe of vampires, providing for the village. They dashed down the trail with relaxed expressions, wearing nothing but thin tunics and shorts for ease of movement. Some of them didn’t even wear shoes! They ran and moved in ways that were so unmistakably inhuman, yet the waiting group lauded them when they got to them, patting them on their backs and taking the Caribou off their hands to go skin and prepare it. 

Dorian saw one vampire hand off his Caribou to a cluster of waiting arms before turning towards one of the women that had been waiting for the hunting party. She was bundled up in furs and clothing, shivering in the cold: he dove towards her and peppered her face in kisses. She grinned, cupping his face and responding.  _ Gods above, if Mother and Father could see this they’d be going into shock,  _ he thought to himself with awed satisfaction. Watching the display of affection made him mindlessly bring Sydney’s hand up to his mouth for a kiss. She gasped in surprise and he looked at her in worry.

“Your face is  _ really cold _ .” She said with a laugh. 

“Oh. Sorry.” He immediately began to look around for something to warm his lips with: the gesture made Sydney’s heart swell. He really cared about her.

The more the Ashdowns saw of the community, the more clear it became that vampires weren’t forced to do or be  _ anything  _ near human. They moved with supernatural fluidity and grace around their mortal friends, not having to conceal their movements as was commonplace out in the rest of the world. They lifted canoes with an air of ease, or sat out on the cabin porches in nothing but a pair of pants, enjoying the light snowfall on their skin. One vampiric woman was even playing with a group of human children: tossing them up in the air one by one and catching them effortlessly. 

“Sloan,” Sydney said, running up to the front of the group, “This is… this is like nothing I’ve seen before! How did you  _ do _ this?”

She shrugged. “It just… happened. Some got tired of living in the dark. Others got tired of living in fear. We  _ all _ got tired of living under rules constructed hundreds of years ago. Two of the other founders were a very kind man and a very kind woman who cared for one another quite a lot. But the woman never aged and that scared the people of their old village. So, they staked a claim out here and Enhed has been developing ever since.”

“How much does it cost to stay here?” Dorian asked. 

_ That  _ made Sloan guffaw. “We are not a  _ ski retreat _ , kid. You want to be part of us, you ask. We provide for ourselves well enough that we always have room to grow. See that?” She pointed off in the distance at the bare bones of a cabin being constructed. “We haul lumber out here all the time from Nuuk. There’s no shortage of demand for more housing: without fail, newcomers show up every year. You happen to be this year’s batch: just in time, too!” 

They finished the tour, collectively stunned at the perfect symbiosis it seemed Enhed had created. “We have a few empty cabins now.” Sloan said, arms crossed. “And for those of you who are still uncomfortable with human proximity, there’s bunking for immortals behind the community hall. So I suppose it’s time you make your choice: are you staying, or are you going?” 

_ That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it _ ? Sydney thought to herself. This place, it was… great. But it was a lot. A big adjustment that would take time, dedication, and a willingness to learn. Was it an adjustment she could make for the long years she would have to lay low here? And if  _ she  _ was struggling with it, how were the more conservative Ashdowns fairing? The decision loomed in front of her like a large chasm: yawning, uncrossable. 

But then she envisioned Godyth and Bernard, their cold stares and lifeless eyes. The way they treated their kids, treated  _ her _ … it was unacceptable. If there was a community she could support that fought against those principles, then she was going to join it. And just like that, her decision was made. She looked around at the people around her: not exactly her family, but not exactly strangers anymore. Tied together by circumstance and demand. 

Hermela caught her eye. Snowflakes settled on her eyelashes and hair, unmelting. She gave her one slow, affirmative nod. Sydney was filled with a certainty for this decision she hadn't felt before. 

“Yeah.” Sydney said, holding Dorian’s hand tighter. “I think we’re gonna stay. We’re staying.”

This would be good. She would make this good. Even if the thought of adjusting to a place she had no understanding of made her extraordinarily nervous.

It seemed like Sloan had been expecting them to say just that. She offered to house every newcomer in two side-by-side cabins. Most of the family declined: a lot of them weren’t comfortable being cooped up in little dwellings that reeked of humanity, and Dorian didn’t want to abandon them in that. Sticking together seemed to make them all feel more at ease. Sofia and Sydney got their own cabin to share: it was a tiny thing, but cozy. It had thickly insulated walls, a cozy living area, and one bed. Sofia said it was fine: she wasn’t a big recreational sleeper. She was mostly just excited to be rooming with her friend again, just like old times. 

Dorian was headed to check out the inside of the cabin with Sydney when Sloan whistled and crooked a finger at him. “Oh, not you, boy. You’re looking peaky. Come with me, I’ll get you something to eat.”

“Is this the part of the tour where you reveal your village has a dark blood sacrifice side?” Sydney asked, only half joking. 

“Everyone who lives here donates to our blood bank once or twice a year. It’s a big part of our local culture. No blood sacrifices needed.” Sloan hauled the curly-haired man away through the long shadows of the buildings. It was only around one in the afternoon, but the sun was already dipping below the edge of the horizon. Sofia excused herself to ‘get her other siblings settled in’: they both knew it was to talk them out of their grouchy, apprehensive state and ensure they weren’t too sulky. 

Sydney was almost thankful to be alone. She shut the door to the cabin behind her, sighing and shucking off her gigantic coat. The weather here compared to her life in San Francisco was giving her whiplash.

“Oh, sunlight.” She groaned, looking out the one tiny windowpane of the house, “I’m gonna miss you.” She’d done her homework on the drive to the airport: Greenland got about four or five hours of distant light in their winters.  _ This was going to be a long ten years _ . With a sigh she left her shoes by the door and took her time learning the ins and outs of the cabin, figuring out how to work the radiator and taking stock of the sparse kitchenette utilities.  _ Space-wise, this isn’t a big adjustment _ , she admitted,  _ it’s just a little smaller than where I used to live. Wait: oh my god. The property manager’s gonna be expecting payment soon. But I can’t pay. I’m supposed to be MIA.  _ And just like that, her headache was back. 

Dorian burst into the cabin an hour later missing a shirt and covered in snow, a huge grin on his face. “I– hey. This place? This place is awesome. They have a whole blood bank full of refrigerated meals, it was great. Then I got to talking with some people who moved here from Alaska, and they were using this blanket to  _ toss  _ people up into the air! I went up like a hundred feet!”

Sydney raised a single eyebrow. “You went so high you lost your shirt?”

Dorian looked a little abashed. “I may have gotten a little caught up in the heat of the moment.” He left his shoes by the door and set about inspecting the cabin,  _ ooh _ ing and  _ ahh _ ing over how great it was like a kid in a candy store. “Sorry, I’m a little buzzed right now. Got way more blood in my system than I’ve been used to for months.” 

“Hey, I get it. I think.” Sydney replied from her curled up spot on her bed. “If anything,  _ I  _ should be more excited about this. A safe place to be from the Assembly, an environment that’s open to all sorts of people… it’s great.” Her voice sounded flat. She was tired. Not just tired from the travel, or from the cold. Tired from being away from home and being in danger for so long. It was draining her very essence, and the looming fact that she was going to have to stay here for the next few years of her life pulled her long-dormant feelings of apathy and despair from the shadows. She felt...grief.

“You  _ shouldn’t  _ be excited, Raggedy.” Dorian collapsed cross-legged next to her. “A lot of stuff has been ripped out from under your feet. You lost your apartment, your city, your job, your safety. I’ve…” His brow was furrowed. “I’ve taken a lot from you. I’m sorry about that. I never should have gotten involved.” 

“If you hadn’t gotten involved I would have made good on my stupid impulse when I was really sick, and died. Besides, you heard what your siblings have been saying. You  _ know  _ Godyth and Bernard would have eventually taken action against you, no matter what.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t have been hurt in the crossfire.” 

“You mean I wouldn’t have been there to help you deal with it? We’ve  _ both  _ been through the wringer, Dorian. All of us have. This problem is bigger than just one person, but we can deal with it better if we stay together.” She put her hand over his, and paused. “God, you are literally freezing. I think the temperature of the house is going down because of you.” 

Sydney banished Dorian to the opposite side of the house to sit in front of the radiator. Sofia came back in the late evening, out of the pitch-darkness outside with a cloth-wrapped meal for Sydney. Together they all talked late into the night, finding comfort in the familiarity between all of them. It was safe and well-known territory, unlike the world outside the cabin walls.  _ This is good.  _ Sydney thought as she watched the siblings bicker over a pillow to sit on.  _ Life is new and terrifying, but for the first time in a good long while, I won’t be alone in experiencing it.  _


	14. Chapter 14: January

A nearly-completed bachelor’s in business administration looked somewhat okay on a resume. It took a lot of time and dedication, and displayed a willingness to work and an understanding of the complex mechanics behind office corporations. 

A nearly-completed bachelor’s degree in business administration was _ not  _ at all impressive to any of the people of Enhed. 

Sydney’s skills tended to lean towards managing people in social situations, or working with customers. Only trouble is there weren’t really many customers to work with here: and what business there was was conducted between friends who knew each other well and spoke a language she didn’t understand. It was frustrating, but didn’t stop her from being assigned a job nonetheless. 

“We all pull our weight around here.” Sloan said a few weeks later as they tromped through the snow-covered streets. “You eat our food, use our energy? You work.” Shortly after, Sydney was handed off to a group of wind-weathered fishers to learn how to haul, scale, and preserve the catches they brought in every day. She came back to the cabin sore and miserable with blisters on her hands. Dorian pressed kisses to each one, trying not to laugh at her grouchy and downtrodden expression. His day had fared far better: he wasn’t afraid of getting a little messy so he had been assigned to sea diving to catch squid, crabs, and shellfish on the icy ocean floor. Apparently Hakim had taken to architectural design and repair thanks to his years of sculpture practice, Sofia had jumped at the opportunity to help sew and mend clothes, and Hermela joined ranks with the vampire hunters who found and followed quarry in the days of winter darkness. 

Day after day Sydney struggled in several layers of clothing to operate a scaling knife and not gag at fish guts. She  _ was  _ getting a little better every time, but this was completely new (and disgusting) to her. As she worked, she noticed how the humans of the village worked their hardest and the vampires filled in the gaps, pushing things even further than a human would be able to. They worked at night, or ferried boats in and out of the inlet without ever tiring. Sydney realized that  _ that’s  _ why the village thrived so much, why nobody was worried about food or water: they were flush with excess. Oftentimes they had enough food or handcrafted items to snowmobile over to Nuuk and sell as ‘artisanal handcrafted products’, the money funneling right back into the community for things they couldn’t make all the way out here. 

One cloudless afternoon Sydney was down at the frosted beach, helping pull nets of fish off the barnacled boats, the salty air so cold it froze on her lashes. Dorian exploded out of the ocean beside her, breaching like a shark. She nearly dropped her armful of fishing nets with a gasp at his unexpected appearance.

Dorian laughed, other vampires emerging from the ocean around him and chuckling. They all held waterlogged bags. Dorian shook the saltwater from his hair and rooted around in his bag. “Oyster?” He asked, offering Sydney one. A fishing woman beside her tittered, nudging her friend as she watched. With a grin Dorian looked around and realized he had an audience: he  _ so  _ loved an audience. He gave an over-the-top flourish and bowed at the waist, tilting his head down and holding the shellfish towards Sydney like it was the most splendid gift in the world. The divers around him hooted and hollered. 

Sydney flushed and accepted the stupid present. The fishers murmured wryly, patting her on the back in approval as the divers gathered their bags and jogged past. Sydney stopped Dorian for a brief second to give him a peck on the nose. The man was an idiot, but he was  _ her  _ idiot.

“Are they always that dramatic and noisy?” Sydney asked an older woman beside her: she was the only one of the fishers who spoke in broken English. 

“No.” She smiled and heaved a bag of fish over her shoulder. “They approve. They like the courting.” 

Sydney scoffed. “Courting. Right. That was a gag.”

She shrugged. “No. Not for the undyings. Presents are...love. A gift…” Her eyes twinkled. “He tries to woo you.”

Sydney saw it in a whole different light when Dorian started bringing her gifts. Little things, here and there. She realized he’d been doing it long before they even got to Enhed. Buying her snacks by the road, bringing her coffee, getting her wine. They weren’t him magically predicting her needs– he was  _ flirting _ , in his own weird 'rules of Vampire Society' way. 

She steamed some of the community-caught oysters over her kitchenette stove and sat down at the cabin’s low table for a dinner of hard and contemplative thinking. So Dorian was going to covertly fling gestures of affection her way? Two could play that game. But what could you get a man who didn’t really need anything but the clothes on his back?  _ If only there was an instant coffee machine for mixed drinks _ , she thought wistfully.  _ I bet he’d love that.  _

Sofia slid into the cabin just as Sydney was sucking at the last oyster shell. “Oh, good. Just the girl I wanted to see.” Sydney said, steepling her fingers. “What kind of, like…  _ stuff  _ does Dorian like?”

Sofia furrowed her brow, thinking as she locked the door. “Well, if we were still in California, I would say expensive booze and loud clubs. He’s really not one who likes stuff for stuff’s sake, you know? Fads and what’s hot change all the time, and so do gifts. He’s always appreciated a good gesture with thought behind it.”

“Great. I’d say that was helpful but I’m more lost than before.”

“That’s life for you.” 

“Gee, thanks.”

More weeks flew by and Sydney found herself getting better and better at her work. It was what she put almost all of her time into each and every day, and it showed: her hands were tougher and more confident, with callouses across the thumbs. Her arms and legs were stronger. And best of all, the abundance of good food and hard work was giving width and thickness to a figure whose dimensionality had been stolen by stress and illness for years. Dorian was quick to appreciatively comment on her progress: once in a while they would both sneak away from their work stations to spend a few heated moments together behind a cabin, taking what free time they had to be together. Dorian was apparently a big fan of that fact that she had biceps now, and was not shy about saying so. It brought Sydney a warm sense of satisfaction.

While she worked, her friends worked around her. Well, most of them. She saw Timur less frequently than anybody, and when she did, he wasn’t working. He was taking slow walks around the edge of town, or sitting on the freezing beach and watching the waves roll in and out. Sydney tried to talk to him, on occasion. He’d just look up at her with a tight, lightless grin and offer minimal responses until the conversation died. 

“Hey. Is something wrong with Timur?” She asked Hermela one evening. Both of them were hanging around the firepit, a common gathering place for people to eat and talk on these glacial winter days. 

The vampire stared back at her across the flames with a gaze much less cutting than it had been a month ago: her immersion in a culture without rigid social borders was starting to melt parts of her icy and combative exterior.

“Where can I even start?” She said. “He’s the oldest Ashdown. Been with Godyth and Bernard since 1670, when they found him in an illness-riddled village in Mongolia. He’s had to put up with their unachievable standards and separatist ideals his whole life. The amount of poisonous things he’s heard and seen in his travels with them…” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine. But they’re all he had. Standing up to them,  _ losing  _ their trust and affection, it killed him. Now he doesn’t even have access to the only thing he’s still passionate about, the piano.” She looked down through the town at the sea, painted silver with moon and starlight. The last time she had seen Timur he had been down there. He probably still was: he never slept. “When I look at him here, away from everything he ever had, I don’t see my brother anymore. I see a ghost.” 

Sydney had no response for that. What could she say? It was a painful situation. The escape to Enhed had been so good for all of them. But it was killing Timur, and he sat there and endured it with the quiet resolve only an older brother who cared very much for his family could. 


	15. Chapter 15: February

This was clearly the month for snow storms. Flakes came down in relentless torrents, with wind so strong it could knock you over. Sydney found herself with a case of cabin fever every other day, pacing the extremely small hallway of their abode and listening to the wind whistle outside. She took comfort in the visits from other villagers, who would stop by to bring her food, play games, or just laugh at her utter intolerance to the cold. Dorian tried to stop by, he really did. But Sofia had a bad habit of enforcing a “no canoodling” rule: she insisted that as long as she was half the party that owned the cabin, she had the right to enforce at least  _ one  _ rule for her own peace of mind. It was utterly infuriating.

“Come on, this isn’t so bad!” Sofia said, wiggling a six of spades. “Let’s play another round of Rummy.”

“Not so bad.” Sydney mockingly grumbled, looking out the window for the fourth time in an hour. It was covered completely in snow. “Of course you’d say that! You were just outside walking around like it was nothing. If I went out there I’d be buried in an instant.” 

“Bah. The storm can’t last forever. And then you’ll be back to work and wishing you could be lounging around inside all day!” Sofia eyed a nearby cupboard. “...Or you could work on your gift? You’ve been very into that lately.” 

Sydney groaned, sliding down against a wall. “Don’t remind me. It’s a disaster.” She  _ loved  _ the idea of the present she was making for Dorian, but the execution left something to be desired. If you told her to delegate between the demands of a customer and the requirements of a store, she could do it with both hands tied behind her back. But carving a quarter-sized piece of wood? That proved to be a bigger challenge than anything. She had had to start over several times, getting pieces of leftover construction wood that she bartered with Hakim for. The little geometric shapes she planned out looked so  _ simple _ on paper: why were they so damn difficult in practice? 

There was a knock at the cabin door: a native vampire stood outside, speaking quickly so as not to let too much snow into the abode. “We’re having a town get-together in the main hall.” He said, casually wiping snow out of his eyes. “You should join us. Oh! Yes, also. You are the one who had a special request from town, right?”

Sydney nodded: a few weeks ago she had asked if she could get her hands on a camcorder for posterity. She had an idea brewing in the back of her mind. 

He withdrew a video camera, still in its plastic packaging, and handed it to her. 

“What are we waiting for?” Sofia said, cards tossed aside haphazardly. “Let’s get down to the main hall!”

She helped Sydney struggle through the snow until they reached the hall. It was an enormous building capable of fitting the whole population of the town inside at once. Light glowed from inside, chatter audible even over the roar of the wind. Sydney battled with the massive and snow-stuck door: Sofia sighed and shoved it ajar with one hand. 

All the town’s generators were pressed against the far back wall to stop them from being buried in the mounting snow outside. When Sydney first saw them weeks ago, she nearly laughed until she cried: they were  _ giant hamster wheels.  _ Vampires, untiring and fast-paced creatures that they were, signed up for a few days a year to run on the wheels for twenty-four hours at top speed, generating the city’s small electrical grid. It wasn’t exhausting, just boring. Often Sydney would see one of the wheel-runner’s friends pull up a chair beside the wheels, working and talking to help them stave off boredom. On occasion the humans would gather up and take turns on the wheel, trying to generate as much electricity as a vampire, much to the vampire’s amusement. They never got anywhere near it but it was fun nonetheless. 

The hall was full of people mingling, talking, and relaxing. Children played dice games off in the corners as their parents talked over plates of salt fish. Everybody was enjoying this brief social break from the pounding winter storm outside. The town was so small, they liked to keep themselves interconnected and in touch. Sydney found that Enhed had much less gossip and cliquing than small US towns and communities. She thought that was probably because most of the people who came here came seeking asylum from the Red Assembly’s general vampiric laws; having a common enemy always united people. 

Someone started playing a drum, loud even over the crowd chatter. Jaw harps joined in, followed by singing. Almost as if by magic the crowd pushed into the edges of the room, making a floor for the dancers who began to flood it.

“Oh, yes! Yes, yes, this is happening.” Sofia squealed, hauling Sydney out into the dance. They whirled around, laughing and holding one-another, following the circle of people that swirled past them. Through the crowd Sydney saw the unmistakable sight of Hermela dancing with someone: a small Inuit vampire woman with long black hair and eyes that glittered with energy and excitement. Sydney had known for months that Hermela was a professional dancer, but she’d never had a chance to see her in action: she practically  _ flew  _ across the floor, all elegant limbs and perfect poise. But that wasn’t what made her so particularly radiant right now. It was the beaming smile she gave to the woman she was dancing with. She looked genuinely happy. 

Sydney pointed that out with a delighted smile, giggling with Sofia at the visage of her normally stoic and brusque sister being so romantic. 

Sofia was suddenly pulled away with a surprised gasp. Dorian fluidly stepped into her place, leaving her huffing on the edge of the floor. 

“Hey.” Sydney said, grinning. It had been a good few days since they had had the chance to see each other. 

“Hey yourself.” Dorian replied. His hand was warm on Sydney’s hip, sending a shiver down her spine.  _ Damn _ , she liked this man.

“Hermela’s found herself a dance partner.” Sydney murmured.

“A little more than that, if the rumor’s I’ve heard are true.” 

“Really? Guess she’s a supporter of Enhed’s message now.”

“She’s getting there. I’m glad. It took her long enough.” Dorian swept her up in a tight circle, lifting her off the ground for a brief moment. “I’m gonna be blunt here. I  _ need  _ to spend more time with you: you’ve been on my mind and try as I might, I just can’t get you out. All this damn work, it’s driving me crazy. Remember the coffee date? I want to do the coffee date again!” He cracked a grin at Sydney’s responding laugh. “But I don’t know if these people have even  _ heard  _ of coffee. I’d even settle for a decaf date at this point.” 

Sydney snorted. “You took the words right out of my mouth, Hades.”

“Oh,  _ Hades. _ I like that.” Dorian said with self-satisfaction, smiling like an idiot: Sydney was struck by the tender affection hidden in it, under his shell of humor. 

“You know how you can make up for lost time?” Sydney said, pulling them closer together.

“How?”

She slung her arms around his shoulders. “Keep dancing.”

Dorian let loose a broad grin. “That, I can do.” 


	16. Chapter 16: March

“Go, go, go!” Sydney crowed, camera pointed at Hakim. She was killing time on her mid-day break with a few other people on the outskirts of town. Some vampires were having a rock-lifting competition with the craggy chunks that came off the mountains when the snow shifted. 

Hakim strained, grunting. The rock he was wrestling with must have been three times his weight. With a halting cry he hoisted it over his head for a brief second before letting it crash to the ground with an echoing smash. The small gathering cheered and another vampire stepped up to lift the stone. 

Sydney snapped the camcorder shut as Hakim came sidling up to her. “I hope you got my good side.” He said, tilting his chin to the side like a magazine model.  _ It’s so refreshing to see him like this,  _ Sydney thought. Like Hermela, he was slowly morphing. Losing his cold air of superiority and becoming more amicable. 

“Just another clip to add to my compilation. I’m thinking I’ll call it ‘The Ashdown Kids Show Off Too Much’. What do you think?” She had been taking videos of vampires doing all sorts of things, with the intention of making some sort of kitschy home video about Enhed. 

He laughed. “We got talents, we might as well share them with the world. Well, not with the  _ world _ . Don’t want to start a global panic.”

“Hakim!” A woman called with a toddler on her hip. “Andora says they need you at the pillars!” 

“I’ll be right there!” He shouted back, collecting his coat Sydney had been holding for him. He really didn’t need it, but it was very fashionable. Even here he hadn’t relinquished his need to be the top model of the family. 

“Pillars?” Sydney asked. 

“New support beams for the main hall.” Hakim explained. “Sloan found me whittling some scrap wood and asked me to help turn the pillars into pieces of art.” 

“Hakim, that’s great! I’m really glad your passions are being put to work here. I’ll wander over there when I have time, check them out.” 

They waved as they parted ways, heading down opposite sides of the village. Sydney sighed, hands in her coat pockets as she waded through the snow. She hadn’t seen the stubby tundra grass beneath it in weeks: it would be a welcome relief when the white powder melted. 

“Oh, Sydney. Good, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Come inside.” Sloan was out on the deck of her house slash village headquarters. She put another pot of tea on the stove for the human. Sydney had come to realize that the gesture was not some old human habit from her past, but a friendly courtesy to the warmbloods in this icy climate.

“What’s up?” Sydney asked, settling onto a sitting pillow. 

“I just wanted to check in and see how you are faring. You and your group seem to mesh quite well with our little community.”

Sydney huffed happily into her tea. “That’s an understatement. It’s a welcome change to not have so much stress hanging over my head: no monthly rent, no rude customers at the deli, no smoky city air. And most of all no ‘we’ll kill you if you think that humans are the intellectual equivalent to vampires’ drama.” She paused. “Did… I ever tell you the  _ specific  _ reason we came here?” 

“I assume it’s exactly the same as everyone else who wasn’t born here. You fled from the Assembly, yes? Maybe you saw their ancient outdated ideals. Maybe it was for love. Maybe you were being hunted and had no other option. It makes no difference either way.” 

After another deep sip of tea Sydney let out a long exhale. “I was a combination of the three, I guess. We were all threatened into hiding: I was actually roped into it. But I’m kind of glad I was. This problem runs deep, doesn’t it? The censorship, the rigid morals. If I can help in any way to stop that, to counteract that, I want to.” 

Sloan slapped her thigh. “ _ That’s  _ the kind of attitude I love! Not afraid, angry. Determined. Afraid likes to hide. Anger, you can use to fight. When I helped found this town in 1806, I was  _ full  _ of fear. But then people started coming to me. Sharing their stories. My fear turned to rage, and I’ve used that rage to protect these people for hundreds of years.” 

“How do you know you can keep doing that?” Sydney asked. “Keeping them safe? How do you know the Assembly won’t come knocking on your door tomorrow morning?” 

“I don’t. These people, they are not fighters. I will not burden them with the stress of readying for a war that may never come. We are a community of peace first and foremost. Does that make us vulnerable? Absolutely. But you  _ cannot  _ let that insecurity cow you. Maybe they will never find us. Maybe they will. But if they do, _ I  _ will fight: because that is what you do when you care about something. You gather whatever you can, and you fight.” 

They talked for a little while longer before saying their goodbyes and leaving. Sydney returned to her cabin after borrowing Hermela’s laptop. There was no internet connection in the village, but that didn’t matter. She was inspired by Sloan’s words: she plugged in her camcorder to the USB and pulled up the editing software. She wasn’t a warrior, or a weaponsmith, or a superhuman. But she would gather what she had and she would fight. 


	17. Chapter 17: April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: (Non-Graphic) Romantic Intimacy!

The snow came much less heavily now. That cheered everybody up: the indoor meat-smoking and drying could be moved to the outdoors, and rambunctious children could finally stop bouncing off the walls and stretch their legs. Sydney dodged a gaggle of kids hauling plastic soccer goals and balls from Nuuk down to the smooth sands of the beach. Sofia and Hakim had just let her go: they had been looking at potential patterns to start working into the main hall walls and wanted a third opinion. Watching them bicker over whether herringbone or scales would look better was as interesting as watching paint dry. In the end it didn’t feel like she was actually needed at all. 

Sydney twisted her cabin’s door handle and found to her surprise that it was unlocked. She entered with caution, holding her small bag of books she borrowed from a neighbor like a weapon. 

Dorian was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the living space. He waved. 

The apprehension in Sydney’s chest faded. “Hey! I didn’t know you were back from work.” She set her books down on the single table and crawled over next to him for a peck on the lips. They had been together for a good few months now, but long spans of quality time were difficult to come by. There was always work to be done. Most times all they could share was a fragment of conversation as they passed one another on the main path, or a brief catch-up around the firepit in the evenings. At one point they had slunk their way into an unoccupied and half-finished cabin for the evening, giggling like school children, but they only had a minute to themselves before a very surprised vampire carrying construction lumber shooed them out. 

“Cod season is starting up.” Dorian replied, entwining his fingers with her: it was a gesture of comfort. “All we did today was some population scouting: the other teams covered the daily haul, so I came back early. Obviously I didn’t come here to tell you that, though.” Dorian said. He worried at his lower lip, working himself up to say something. A contemplative and hesitant expression never failed to be a little funny on his soft features; he had a face that looked like he should always be smiling. He straightened his back. “I don’t know if you remember the exact date, but we’ve actually known each other for about a year now.” 

“We have, haven’t we?” Sydney said in a bit of awe. “Time flies. What a different situation we’ve found ourselves in now, huh?”

Dorian nodded, letting the conversation lull. “Okay. Now that I’m here, this feels over the top.” He gave a shake of his head and dry laugh before pulling his arm from behind his back. “But I got you something because a whole year has passed.” 

He held a small bouquet of wild flora, their stems wrapped in twine. It was an assembly of rough greens and hardy leaves from the sparse vegetation that grew in Greenland. The flowers that sat in the middle were a downy white, just beginning to blossom. 

Sydney’s chest clenched. Another gift, another courting. She held the bouquet to her nose: it smelled like wind and green and snow. It touched her to think about Dorian darting around on the hillsides, digging through snow and slush for just the right new piece for the bouquet. That was how much he cared. 

“I love them. Thank you.” She said softly, putting them in a tin mug of water. She eyed the cupboard that held Dorian’s gift. Technically it was done, but she still wasn’t proud of it. She knew there was no better time to give it to him, though. “I... actually have something for you too.” 

Sydney dropped a small circular wooden pendant on a leather cord into Dorian’s open palm. It was decorated with three geometric shapes that sat inside one another: a nonagon, a square, and another circle. “I know, I know, it’s not very good.” She said preemptively. “But it’s symbolic of the year you were reborn into your second life. See?” She pointed to the geometric shapes in order, starting with the circular exterior. “One, nine, four, one. Your rebirth year, and the number of sides each shape has.” 

Dorian had the necklace on in a flash, tying it around his neck with fast and unwavering fingers. He was beaming. “Thank you. You have no idea what this means.”

“I do. Sort of.” Sydney shrugged, trying not to betray how her soul swelled at the sight of his radiate expression. “Vampires and their courting gifts, huh? I guess I’ve decided to court back. I really like you, Dorian. I really like you.” She closed the gap between them and pressed her lips to his. 

He pulled her into him, up and onto his lap with a satisfied sigh. Their mouths danced. Sydney’s heartbeat thudded in her ears: his hands were on her arms, on her hips, on her thighs. She decided then and there that she wanted them all over her.

Sydney pulled Dorian back by the hair so she could get a sentence out. “Bed.” She said breathlessly. 

Dorian looked up at the ceiling and mouthed  _ thank God  _ before gripping Sydney by the waist, walking her backwards until they hit the bedroom door. They laughed as they fumbled their way inside. 

Sydney was in an unstoppable fever. All she could think about was getting more of him onto her as quickly as possible. “Oh wait, wait.” She gasped. “We need– ugh.  _ Dammit _ , we need protection. I love what’s happening right here but I am  _ absolutely  _ not willing to get pregnant for it.”

Dorian, who was halfway onto the bed, laughed. “Nobody told you? I’m shooting blanks, Raggedy. All vampires are.” 

“But the hybrid couples here, they have kids–”

“–That they got with human donors or surrogates.” He soothed. “Trust me, we could try hundreds of times and get no closer to a baby bump.” 

“Consider me comforted.” Sydney murmured, much to the amusement of her boyfriend. She was just in the midst of pulling Dorian’s shirt off when there was a clattering bang from the door, and rapid running footsteps in the hall. 

“Absolutely not!” Sofia screeched in Sydney’s doorway. “Not in my house! I live here too, and as half the population I veto this movement!”

Dorian and Sydney sprang apart, flustered. 

“Out! You damn floozy, get out of here!” Sofia angrily shooed her brother out of the room. He paused at Sydney’s doorway to give her a salacious wink before making his escape, Sofia hot on his heels. She slammed and locked the door, huffing and smoothing her hair. “The  _ nerve  _ of that man. In my own home!” 

Sydney’s initial shocked embarrassment turned to an uncontrollable fit of giggles. She let herself roll off the low bed and onto the floor, face red. “I appreciate the white-knighting, Sof,” She said between laughs, “But I knew what I was doing. I’m twenty-three. A lot of my friends are trying for kids already!”

“Well I’m almost sixty-five, which makes me the elder and right by default!” Sofia sniffed dismissively. “Besides. These walls are thin and vampires have great hearing. The neighbors would have heard.” 

“I feel like that’s more about  _ you  _ being embarrassed than me.” 

“Th-that’s beside the point!” 

Sydney burst into another bout of laughter and pressed her face into the floor. 


	18. Chapter 18: May

“One, two, three,  _ pull! _ ” A bundled-up villager shouted to his team. They were hoisting up rows of cloth flags all over the main hall. Spring was right around the corner, and the community was getting ready for a potlatch. Food was usually a communally distributed thing, but now was a chance for families to show off the recipes and cooking styles taught to them by their elders, or that they had picked up from their homelands. The get-together was only a week away, and the clear sky forecast meant the prep work could start early. 

Sydney dodged and weaved through the workers in the bright morning sun. She had gotten so accustomed to the long dark days of Winter, she hadn’t realized that starting in May the light would become as constant as the dark used to be. 

She was headed to Sloan’s house. It was the only building in the whole village with a massive antenna and signal booster hooked up to a phone number: it was their one connection to the global world, and Sydney intended to use it today. Her stomach was all in knots. After a lot of consideration, talking to the Ashdown siblings, and sleepless guilty nights, she decided to call her sister. The last contact she had with her was months ago: a voicemail, just to tell her she was alive and not to look for her. But time was flying by and it seemed more and more each day that the Red Assembly would not find them. Sydney finally felt secure in her position enough to ring her up. 

Sloan stepped out of the building after a brief conversation. Sydney plopped herself in the middle of Sloan’s leather desk chair and stared at the black cord phone right in front of her.  _ Just call.  _ She thought to herself.  _ You’ve put this off long enough with work and your video. Every day that passes makes it worse. Call and get it over with _ . 

The call picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” Hannah’s voice said. 

Sydney hadn’t expected how nervous she would feel after hearing that. “Hi, Hannie.” She said, her voice rough with emotion.

It took Hannah several minutes to stop crying, and with every second of her sister sobbing going by, Sydney felt like a worse person.

There was a shuffling noise and a murmur about speakerphone. “Jesus, Sydney, where are you? Are you okay?” Toby’s voice joined in on the conversation.

Sydney pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes, I’m fine. I’ve been perfectly fine.” 

“Then  _ why  _ didn’t you call?” Hannah was distraught, and rightfully so. “God, Riles! We called the police minutes after we found the car door open. They had you on the missing person list until you left that voice mail: then they cancelled the search, said you were a grown woman who could leave if you wanted to. Mom and Dad were crushed!”

Sydney mouthed an expletive into the empty cabin. “You  _ told  _ them?”

“Of course she told them, what else was she supposed to do?” Toby’s voice seemed to rise an octave with every word. 

“Listen, guys, I really need you to calm down.” Sydney soothed. “I’m safe, I promise. I can’t tell you much, and I  _ know  _ that’s hard to hear, but I’m with friends that are going to protect me.” 

“You’re with Sofia, aren’t you? She disappeared right after she saw that you were missing and we haven’t seen her since.” Hannah said. 

“Yeah, I am.” Sydney admitted. 

There was a pregnant moment of silence where Sydney knew that Toby knew, but he didn’t know if  _ she  _ knew. 

“I don’t want you around her for too long, honey.” Hannah blurted out. “Sofia, she’s a sweet girl who I  _ know  _ means well, and you might not believe me when I say this, but she’s actually–”

“A vampire.” Sydney interrupted distantly. “You  _ knew _ ?”

“ _ You  _ knew?!” Both Busch-Hardings said at the same time in utter shock. “Does that have anything to do with why you dropped off the face of the Earth?” Hannah prompted.

“Yes and no. It’s not Sofia’s fault, if that’s what you’re worried about. I…  _ may _ have gotten the Red Assembly sicced after me.” 

There was a loud clatter and a fumbling noise. “Sorry,” Toby said, “knocked the home phone off the counter. But that’s less important than how you managed to get the  _ vampiric law enforcers on your tail?! _ ” 

Sydney sucked her teeth. “It’s a long story, and one I don’t really want to tell. The less you know, the better. All you need to know is that my friend Reggie got me somewhere they’ll never find me.”

“Reggie?” Toby asked. “As in Reginald Icard? Damn! You met him? That guy is like,  _ the  _ leading expert of vampiric culture and history.” 

“Yeah. I definitely wouldn’t be where I am without him.” Sydney said. She glanced at the digital time on Sloan’s computer, “Hey, listen guys. I’ve gotta go. Calls out here aren’t cheap. But I promise I’ll call you again soon.” 

“Fine.” Hannah replied. “I love you, Riles. Please stay safe.” 

“I will, Hannie. I love you too.” 

When Sydney hung up the phone she let her forehead rest on the desk, an exhale of relief rocking her whole body. That had been bothering her for  _ months _ : the closure was a weight off her chest. Her closest family knew she was safe. Now she felt like even if she really  _ did  _ have to stay in Enhed for years, she could actually live with it. 


	19. Chapter 19

“I heard that Miriam made her grandmother’s seafood gumbo.” Hermela said amicably, arm-in-arm with Nakita, the girl she’d danced with at the community gathering. They’d been together for about a month now. 

“Gumbo? Where’d she get the spices and vegetables?” Hakim asked. 

“You know Miriam.” Sydney laughed, readjusting her grip on a covered basket of still-hot crab cakes: Sofia had taken pity on her cooking and helped her in the kitchenette. “Ever the competitive one. I heard she bribed one of our traders to pick up some ingredients for her in Nuuk.” 

“She certainly knows how to get a leg up on the competition, I’ll give her that.” Dorian said, an arm around Sydney’s shoulders. All the Ashdowns moseyed towards the main hall at the end of the ocean inlet. Other villagers walked by, trickling down the slushy street and into the wide double doors that were already spilling firelight into the fading twilight of the night. Sloan sidled up next to them and they greeted her with happy banter. 

Hakim stopped in his tracks, a hand lifted to his eyes. He squinted at one of the distant hills: the same hill they had come over all those months ago. “Anybody else see that?” He asked. It was hard to make out in the shadowed half-light, but two distant flatbed trucks were barreling over the hill, their headlights bright pinpricks in the semi-dark. 

“Weird.” Sofia mused. “Dropoff trucks never come out this far, as far as I know.” 

“That’s because they’re not supposed to.” Sloan said tersely. “Something’s wrong.” 

Other people were starting to notice them now, too, stopping in the street and pointing. Whispered and mutters filled the air. The trucks were driving at incredible speeds towards the mouth of the village. They skidded to a halt right in front of the first houses, and before anyone had a chance to react, figure after figure was jumping from the back and racing down the street. Steel weapons glinted in their hands. 

All of Sydney’s fears came true within a single second of time when the first red-cloaked figure approached the nearest villager and downed them with one ruthless strike.

Immediately Sloan was shouting orders in Greenlandic, potlatch completely forgotten. She whirled around and grabbed Sydney by her shoulders. “Get to the eastern sheds!” She screamed in her face. “Go!”

Screams of panic started as a low hum and raised to a piercing pitch as the figures started to rip through the population, their clothes a stark crimson against the shoreside snow. Sydney dropped her basket and took off at a sprint as people ran around her in a blur: humans gathering the young and old, and vampires throwing themselves at the attackers. They did no good. They were strong, but these people were  _ trained  _ in the art of debilitating wounds vampires had no change of regenerating back from. They moved with fluidity that could only come with practice. This wasn’t a war: it was a massacre.

As she ran in between buildings, heart in her throat, she heard screams from all around.  _ Christ, they’re all getting slaughtered _ . Dorian was hot on her heels, urging her not to look back, to keep going forward. The eastern sheds housed Enhed’s only travel devices: a handful of ATVs and snowmobiles with attached cargo sleds, meant to haul goods to Nuuk. But now they would serve as an escape to the same city. 

Dorian threw open the shed doors and they hurried inside. There was a muffled thud of a pair of shoes on the roof, making Sydney freeze. The duo stood silent, watching, waiting as the footfalls slowly crossed the building to the edge. A figure dropped into the doorway in a whirlwind of fabric. Two eyes glared out at them from over a half-veil, a falchion clutched in their hand. It was wet with innocent blood. 

Without even thinking Dorian put himself between the Red Assembly warrior and Sydney, the fangs that were tucked high into his gums lowering in reaction to the threat. 

The figure sighed coldly and used one gloved hand to pull the veil down. Lysander Ashdown stood in front of them, blood on his shirt and murder in his eyes. “Hey little brother.” He said. His smile was wolfish.

“I… I don’t understand.” Dorian said, appalled. “Lysander… what the hell?”

“Well, when the mother called the Assembly and prompted them to reunite the warriors in an effort to find you, I volunteered to join ranks.” His eyes slid to Sydney. “We’ve been combing through both your backgrounds for months, looking for where you might have run to. Tapped your sister’s phone. Hannah, I think her name is? It was nice of you to lead us right to Reggie, it really was. Pity he didn’t survive after he gave up your location.” 

“You  _ killed Reginald _ ?” Sydney cried. “He was  _ just trying to help _ !” 

“Lysander, don’t do this.” Dorian pleaded. “We’re brother’s, we’re  _ family _ , you–”

“We stopped being  _ family  _ the second you decided  _ vermin  _ were more important than your own kin!” Lysander spat. His words were so vicious that spittle was flying from his mouth. “And now you’re here weaving daisy chains with your little  _ cult. YOUR  _ idiocy has destroyed the  _ only  _ thing I cared about in my life: my family.” He pointed his falchion at Sydney with wild eyes. “So now I’m going to destroy what  _ you _ care about.”

He raised his weapon to attack, but abruptly fell face-down in the snow with a heavy thud. A ski pole stuck out of the back of his head. Hermela and Nakita stood behind him, looking chilled. 

“We only have a few minutes before he regenerates from that.” Hermela bit out, motioning with her hand. The other Ashdowns stepped out of the shadows cautiously. “Let’s leave.”

The group hauled the ATVs and snowmobiles through the narrow backstreets, trying to find a place to start their engines. The village, once filled with screams and commotion, was quickly growing eerily silent. A woman rounded the corner, startling Hakim. She had a shallow cut on her head, blood running down her face. “They’re killing us.” She said hoarsely. “They’re killing all of us!” Hakim put an arm around her shoulders and hurried her along with them. A few more survivors joined their group, looking terrified. Vampires and humans alike, some holding scared children to their chests and a few of them heavy with pregnancy: about twenty in total. 

They started the machines on the edge of town, kicking them up into full throttle and clambering onto them or the sleds they trailed behind them. Two of the Assembly Warriors saw them and raced for the trucks they came in on. A human scrambled away from the vehicles, knife in hand: he had slashed all the tires to ribbons. They cut him down in the snow. 

At the last second Sloan came roaring up to them on a snow bike, taking the lead of the group as they sped away towards Nuuk, away from the many Elite guards. Sydney piloted a snowmobile with a detached sort of numbness, cold air stinging her face and numbing her hands as she blindly followed Sloan’s bike.  _ I led them here _ . She thought, the idea echoing around in her skull.  _ I led them here. This is my fault. I did this.  _ A whole society had just been massacred by her hand. 

They drove for hours across moonlit snow. When they began to see the lights of the city before them, Sloan pulled out a long range radio from her pocket. “Jonah.” She spoke loudly against the wind and revving machines. “It happened. Do it.” A few minutes after she spoke it was like a tidal wave of darkness covered Greenland's capital, all the electricity going out and leaving the city lightless. 

“What was that?” A woman piloting an ATV shouted over the wind. 

“Plan B!” Sloan called over her shoulder. “We’ve got to get to the airport while being seen and recorded as little as possible! Demarco, you still ready to fly that plane?” 

A vampire on Sydney’s sled yelled out a confirmation. Sydney gripped the handles of her vehicle even tighter.  _ Alright, I guess we’re doing this. Running through the capital and stealing a plane. But if this has been Sloan’s backup for a long time, I trust her judgment. God, I hope this works.  _

Driving through Nuuk’s streets in the middle of a blacked-out night with a procession of survivors that weren’t supposed to exist felt unreal. Sydney blindly noted that some of the stores and office buildings had security cameras that would have been fast to record their faces had the power not been out. At full-speed it took them another twenty minutes to get to the airport. They didn’t go through the front, instead skirting around to the far back on the snow-coated tarmac. Sloan led them to a plane hangar: the massive door was open and a single man leaned against its edge, looking frantic and frazzled as they drove inside and dismounted.

“Sloan.” He said nervously, gesturing to the plane that loomed in the center of the dark hangar. “It’s an ATR 72. Belongs to a man with too much money and time on his hands.” He paused to look around her, at the few people snow-dusted villagers. “That’s weird. I thought when you told me to blow the transformers you were doing a  _ full  _ evac: there’s barely anybody here.” 

“They’re all dead.” Sloan said hoarsely. 

“I’m… Christ, Sloan, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He tossed her a small set of keys. “For the doors and ignition. You all better get the hell out of here before they get the generators running.” 

For the second time in a year Sydney found herself clambering into the door of a plane she had no choice other than to get on. But now instead of surrendering to being tired and unhappy, she was running up and down the plane aisle, doing everything she could to help: escorting wounded, finding food and water for children, hunting down medical supplies. She handed off the first aid kit to Hermela, who seemed to know what she was doing better than anybody. 

Dorian came in last as the jet was powering up, engines whining as he swung the heavy door shut. He leaned his head into the cockpit, sharing a few murmured words with Sloan and Demarco. “Hey,” He said, skirted the scattered people in the aisle and approaching Sydney, who was in the back taking stock of everything the plane had on it. “You alright?”

Sydney looked up at him, fingers still counting the bottles of water. “Do I look alright?” She absolutely did not: she was pale and shaken, with wind-burnt cheeks. “How are  _ you  _ holding up?” 

“That’s not important right now.”

“It’s always important.” 

“Look out, you’re gonna–” Dorian dove forward to catch a bottle that Sydney had knocked over with her trembling fingers. She put a hand up to her mouth, closing her eyes. Collecting herself. 

“It’s my fault.” She admitted quietly. “This is all _my fault_. I shouldn’t have taken the risk, shouldn’t have called the mainland. I’m such an idiot, and now people are _dead_ because of me–” Her voice was growing louder and louder, more and more frantic as she spun out. 

Dorian crushed her to his chest, putting pressure on her back with his arms in an effort to stabilize her. “Hey. Hey.” He soothed. “Remember what we always do? Deep breaths. Deep, slow breaths.” He settled his own breathing to fall into rhythm with hers for a few moments. Sydney’s chest was shaky against his, but she eventually adjusted to the pattern. “You heard what Lysander said, right? They were combing through our histories, our lives. Even if it took a few more months, they would have gotten back to my college years, found my photos with Reggie. This would have happened anyway. Right now we need to  _ focus _ … and I can’t focus if I know you’re beating yourself up about something unavoidable. It’ll kill me.” 

Sydney put a hand on the back of his neck, finding comfort in touch. “That’s a touching sentiment, even if it’s not true. You’re comparing a future that  _ has  _ happened with one that only might have.” She straightened with a sigh. “But you’re right about one thing. We don’t have time to do anything but focus. Emotions, baggage… we’ll have to delegate that to later. Who’s flying this plane?”

“Dean Demarco. He’s been a pilot since the second world war. I trust him to get us out of here. Unless he starts doing evasive barrel rolls. Then we’re going to have a problem.” 

Dorian throwing in a joke at a time like this was how Sydney knew he was terrified. 

The announcement system whined and Dorian and Sydney looked up at the nearby speaker. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Demarco's Italian-accented voice said, “We’re about to take off. Please get somewhere comfortable and safe.  _ Dio ti benedica.”  _

Despite his urging to come and sit down with him, Sydney left Dorian’s side to lend whatever aid she could: whether it was out of the enormous love she had cultivated for the people of Enhed over the past months or the crushing guilt she felt, she didn’t know. She looked out over the few people in the tiny plane and couldn’t help but think there should be more there. But there weren’t. There were just hundreds of bodies in the snow, now. 

As the plane took off into the air she looked out the front door’s window at the tarmac below, trying not to vomit. Out of a maintenance door in the distance she saw a figure burst onto the airstrip in a blur of red clothing. They stood stock-still, watching the airplane depart: there was nothing they could do to stop it. But Sydney felt the warrior’s rage from here, and knew with a sick sort of clarity that it was Lysander standing there. Seething. Waiting. 


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER 20**

“Peanuts?” Sofia offered gently. She shook a little bag the size of an apple in front of Sydney’s face. 

“Thanks, but unless you want me to stress-puke, I’ll pass.” 

“Ah. Noted.” She continued to move down the aisle, offering snacks to exhausted and traumatized humans as she went. 

Sydney sat at the far back of the plane, in the last row with Dorian at her side. She wanted to be away from other people. They were about an hour into their flight now, and they still had no place to land. A very well-connected vampire named Deveraux Blanchet was in the pilot’s rest quarts on the phone, throwing his money around to try and buy them a safe landing spot on a private strip on the edge of Newfoundland. She could see him through the back curtain, hunkering against the wall, brows drawn in frustration and pale mouth moving rapidly as he spoke to someone.

Dorian shifted by her side, grumbling in his sleep, eyes flicking back and forth under his eyelids. That’s what he did when he was overwhelmed or just didn’t want to deal with a situation: let himself slip into a dreamstate he didn’t actually need just for the sake of some reprieve from life. Sydney was just about to ease herself out into the hallway when Dorian twitched, frowning. His brow furrowed and the muscles on his forearm clenched. 

_ A bad dream _ , Sydney thought with sympathy. She’d had her fair share of those. “Hey, Apollo.” She shook him gently by the shoulder. “Wake up.”

He jerked into consciousness, hands flailing. Their violent motion snapped the lowered dining tray in front of him with a muffled  _ crack _ . Dorian blinked the sleep out of his eyes and swore when he saw the plastic shards that now decorated his lap. 

“Nightmare?” Sydney asked. 

“Something like that.” Dorian said, wiping his legs. “My memories like to present themselves at the worst times.”

“You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to… but I _ would _ like to know.” Every time Dorian mentioned his past, Sydney’s curiosity was piqued. He was a living history tome: who wouldn’t be? But unlike his emotions, opinions, and affections, he played his past experiences close to his chest. 

Dorian gave a half-smile and looked out the window at the cloud-covered night. “Times were… difficult, in the thirties. I lived in Central Park’s Hooverville for a good long while, doing what I could to scrape by. Sharpening knives, mostly. Had a whole kit dedicated to it, wrapped in leather. That kit was… expensive. One night I was– well, I was jumped while walking back to the park. Got beat to hell, within an inch of my life. I had my kit, my shoes, and my day’s earnings taken right off of me.” He touched his neck idly. “I was on the ground for hours. They got me right in the throat: I could do nothing but lay there and focus on being able to breathe. If I didn’t concentrate, I couldn’t get enough air.” He shook himself from his reverie. “But now I don’t even technically need to breathe, so there’s no need to be scared of it. Except in my dreams, where I’m very human.”

“Is that why you always tell me to breathe when I’m spiraling? Because it’s what worked for you?”

“The exact reason.”

“I studied Hooverville in my history course at university,” Sydney murmured, “But I can’t imagine how it must have felt to be there. I’m sorry. If anybody tries to jump you again, I’ll be there to jab them in the kidney. I’ve got boney elbows: many have told me they’d make great weapons.” She did a few mock jabs in the air, threatening the seat in front of her.

“I appreciate it, my formidable fighter.” Dorian laughed softly. He wove his fingers into hers on top of the armrest.

“If I could have your attention, please.” Sloan said loudly from the front of the plane. All eyes were on her in seconds: she was the people’s lifeline in this terrible, incomprehensible situation. She sighed, pulling her hair away from her face. At that moment she looked very old, and very tired. The cabin was completely silent. 

“We have just been through a terrible loss. One I had hoped against all hope would never come to pass. But it has, and nothing we can do can reverse it. The Red Assembly, the bullies that they are, have sent in their worker drones to do their dirty work.” She straightened her back and leveled a glare at her scattered people. “But this changes  _ nothing _ . We are down many people, with more of us gone than here: that is true. But we have been a family united for generations not by fear and hate as the Assembly is, but by love and compassion.” Sloan balled her fists by her sides. “I urge you to take your fear and pain, and make it anger! Make it unquenchable rage! We  _ will  _ come out of this, alive and rebuilding, living by our own rules.”

“But where will we go?” Piped a frightened voice from the middle of the group: it was a mother, her child’s head pressed against her shoulder. “My husband is dead; lying somewhere in Enhed.  _ That  _ was our home. We have nothing, not even a place to land this damned airplane.” 

Devereux put his hand over the phone’s speaker and leaned out into the aisle to speak. “Actually, I’ve just secured us safe passage to a private airstrip near Fox Harbor in Canada. Without the owner’s knowledge, naturally. It’s amazing what you can accomplish with enough money to bribe the workers.” 

Sloan nodded, gesturing to Deveraux. “See? This whole situation may look terrifying. And it is. But we will find solutions to everything. As your head of the village, I promise you that. Our next initiative, once we land, is to find a safe place to all be together. Somewhere fortified and with amenities where the Assembly won’t even think to look.”

“I have an idea.” Timur said, standing. Sydney blinked. This was the first time she’d heard him be vocal in  _ months _ . “It’s probably stupid, and a little risky, but the Assembly wouldn’t think of it in a million years. We go to the Ashdown estate.” 

A babble of protest broke out but Sloan shushed them. “Let him explain himself.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “My parents were involved in calling the Assembly into American borders. They’ve been very cooperative in their efforts: going so far as to turn their own son over to be part of the Assembly warriors. If we get to their very remote and very high-walled estate– with enough room for everyone here I might add– and deal with them, we can settle in. That would buy us weeks of time. Months, even. And it’s a place me and my siblings know all the details and secrets of.”

Sloan chewed on this information for several long and excruciating minutes. “That’s all the way across the continent.” She mused. 

“We have money. All of us, lots of it: it’ll buy us all secrecy and safe passage.” 

Sloan rubbed her temples. “Okay. Alright, let’s do that. At this point we don’t have a better choice.” 

The large group of people at the front of the plane continued to squabble and argue, trading ideas and brainstorming in a low hum of chatter. Sydney watched Hermela slowly extract herself from the group and slip down the aisle to sit in the back near them. She looked like she absolutely did not want anything to do with Timur’s plan, but was resigned to move with the group. She started rummaging around in her side bag, pulling out her laptop to get to her notepad. 

Sydney’s heart lifted when she saw the computer. She thought that had been abandoned with the rest of the village. “You brought your bag!” She said to Hermela across the aisle. “How?” 

“Rule number one of survival, kid.” Hermela replied. “Always keep a packed bag next to the front door for emergencies.”

“Can I see your laptop?” Sydney hoped against hope that the video she had been carefully compiling was still there.

“No net connection, but sure.” Hermela handed it over. Sydney snagged Dorian’s smartphone and over the next half-hour downloaded the video to it. Sloan’s old words to her months ago echoed in her mind:  _ Gather what you can, and fight _ . She handed the laptop to Hermela with a tight smile and tucked the phone into her own pocket.


	21. Chapter 21

Time normally felt like it dragged on forever on planes, but Sydney saw Canada’s shoreline sooner than she expected. The pines loomed in the darkness of a slowly-greying rainy skyline. A good portion of the vampires opened up the airplane door and as it flew low over the water and jumped out into the ocean. It would make the tarmac crew (who would already be jumpy from the bribes) less quick to startle. They’d all meet up on the road right next to the hangar.

“I’ll see you out at the main road.” Dorian said with a casual wink, giving a two-finger salute and letting himself fall backwards towards the black ocean below. Sydney knew that logically he’d be just fine and she’d see him in a few minutes, but it was still unnerving to watch his body grow small and disappear into the inky waves. 

Demarco landed the plane well, if a bit unsteadily. It rattled and bumped on the tiny runway, nearly dislodging Sydney’s grip on her armrest. The small maintenance crew looked nervous and beady-eyed, lurking on the edges of the plane hangar as they deplaned. Sloan and Deveraux walked up to them, speaking in hushed voices and covertly handing them more money through handshakes. 

“Sell the plane. We were never here.” Sydney heard Sloan say as she passed her by, helping a limping woman get to the main road. 

Ten minutes and a lot of deplaning later, and their group was much smaller. Sloan’s speech on the plane had been motivating and strong: but not strong enough to keep everyone together. Most took some money they were offered and huddled by a bus stop, holding their children or significant others by their hands. They would try and disappear themselves into the Canadian metropolis: new jobs, new rented rooms, new names. They were scared: too scared to stand up and fight. Sydney watched a young man carry his seven year old son down the street with the rest of the fleers. The boy was so tired he was asleep, tear tracks drying on his face.  _ Maybe it’s best they run _ , Sydney thought.  _ Maybe we should all scatter like rats. Maybe it’s the only way to survive. _

Sydney stood with the remains of the Enhed village: a mere handful in total, including the Ashdown siblings. They said nothing to one another. To mention how their numbers had dwindled from hundreds to less than twenty was heartbreaking. It felt like the end of an era, a cataclysmic event that left them all stranded as post-apocalyptic survivors in an unfriendly and hostile world. 

The group took four cabs they called to St. Johns airport, buying the first tickets they could find to San Francisco. In the back of the cab that Hakim and Sydney shared they looked up Greenland news: Apparently a story was already out about a terrorist group who cut the power to the whole capital to steal one plane. The article was accompanied by a blurry, barely visible photograph of a train of people on ATVs speeding past a gas station. Sydney grimaced: barely anything alarming or dramatic happened in Greenland. This was going to spread like wildfire. 

Hakim looked up from his phone at the thick plastic divider between the driver and themselves. “We’re in a lot of trouble, you know.” He told her. “More than we’ve ever been before. I’ve pulled my siblings out of some deep dark holes they’ve dug themselves, but not like this.”

“Yeah.” Sydney replied. “I figured it was bad when a news article came out in the Times about it. They don’t tend to put filler in their front pages.” 

Hakim scoffed exhaustedly. “Do you think Timur’s idiotic plan will work?” 

She shrugged. “I think he has a lot of experience living in this world; more than me, that’s for damn certain. It’s just stupid enough that we might actually be able to get away with it.” 

“In my opinion, ‘dumb enough to work’ tends to end in disaster. We’re playing a risky game right now: I don’t like our odds.”

Nakita, who was stuck between the two of them, sighed and put a hand over both their mouths. Sydney and Hakim froze at the unexpected violation of their personal bubbles. “You two chat too much.” She said in her thick accent. Nakita had been raised in Enhed: it led to a strong loyalty to her people, and only a recent introduction to English. “Blah, blah, blah. Your words change nothing. We will do what we can when we get to it. Other than that, stop talking.”

The rest of the ride to the airport was uncomfortably silent.

In Sydney’s past, she’d find herself indecisive and unhappy with the littlest decisions.  _ Was it wise to spend some money on an expensive rotisserie chicken? Could she get away with covering two eight hour shifts in one day? Was she a bad person for ignoring her sister’s calls?  _ She doubted all her actions, worried over the tiny and unforeseen consequences they could have on her life. But something about having her life threatened and getting wrapped up in a global human rights conspiracy made that facet of her worries fade away completely. No longer was she doubtful of her choices: either they worked or they didn’t, just as Nakita said. Was the choice they were all making right now, to face the flames instead of scattering before them, a stupid one? Maybe so. But her dedication to it held no hesitation. Either it would succeed or it would fail. Those were the only two outcomes you could count on in life. 

Devereaux was fighting with the printing machine in the ticketing area of the airport, banging on it with his fist and muttering from under his pencil moustache, attracting the attention of several people around them. Sydney took the opportunity to nip out to a drug store on the small kitschy strip opposite them and buy a cheap flip phone. She plugged Hannah’s number in. 

_ Your home phone is bugged. Assembly knows about you.  _

_ Can’t talk, sorry for causing trouble.  _

_ … _

_ Love You.  _

“Ooh, romantic text sending are we?” Dorian said, looking over her shoulder at the last message she sent. “Can I have one?” His tone was humorous for a while, but a brief look of worry shadowed it. “Seriously, who’d you send that to, because I–”

Sydney shut him up with a cocked eyebrow. “It’s to my sister, you idiot.” She said fondly. Dorian looked rather ashamed. “I was just telling her I love her in case your parents somehow see us coming and tear us all to shreds. I want her to know I still care, even after how long I’ve been absent.” 

“Raggedy.” He frowned. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand in times like this, it was matter-of-fact acceptance of death. “We’re not going to get  _ torn to shreds _ . Everything will work out.”

“Oh, really?” Sydney crossed her arms, taking a glance at the vampires gathered around the ticket booth and arguing with a very frightened looking booth attendant. “Because last I checked, this is what my life has been like: A guy took me out to pizza after saving my life. I find out that guy is supernatural, and he  _ abducts  _ me. I visit his sociopathic parents who use me to push him over the edge so they have an excuse to torture him.”

Dorian was cringing.

“I get _tossed in a trunk_ and used as leverage _again_ against him, and somehow end up in a coupe that involves the _vampire mafia_. I flee the country and leave behind all my possessions, my family, and my life, only to have my new home razed to the ground by _said vampire mafia_. Now I have NO money, NO possessions, NO job, and NO home.” She looked up at him with a practical, realistic glare. “If the safety of a group of people who represent the ideal future for human and vampiric relationships didn’t hang in the balance, you’d best _believe_ I’d be somewhere in Canada right now.” 

“All by yourself?” Dorian asked quietly. 

Sydney ruminated on her rant with surprise. “No.” She huffed in mild shock. “Funny… when I said I’d run away, I just assumed you'd be running with me.” The fact that she had inserted him into her theoretical fantasy was telling. 

He tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to scrutinize her soul. “You’re right.” Dorian said. There was no trace of his usual swagger in his stance or words. “If you wanted to go start a new life in Canada, I would go with you. If you wanted to do it right now, I would kiss this flight goodbye and walk out that door.” He shook his head, smiling almost incredulously. “Never expected to say that to anybody. You wiggled your way into my damn heart, you know that? I’ve courted hundreds of women. It was my  _ favorite  _ hobby. But you… you’ve gotten into my head and I can’t get you out.”

“You’ve discovered my mastermind move: that was my plan from the very beginning. Now you’re stuck with me.” Sydney joked. 

“God, I hope I am.” Dorian accepted the open-armed embrace Sydney offered him, resting his chin atop her head. “Hey,” he asked after a moment. “Can I have my phone back?”

“No.” Sydney’s voice was muffled in his shirt. “I need it.”

The vampire gave a long-suffering sigh. 

There was a sharp whistle across the wide hall. They turned to see Sofia waving tickets above the sparse crowd; apparently they’d been successful in getting seats on the flight leaving in twenty minutes.  _ Yep, this is a stupid decision _ , Sydney decided as they hurried through security. But she was sticking to it: for her friends, for Dorian. For herself. 

Time normally felt like it dragged on forever on planes, but Sydney saw Canada’s shoreline sooner than she expected. The pines loomed in the darkness of a slowly-greying rainy skyline. A good portion of the vampires opened up the airplane door and as it flew low over the water and jumped out into the ocean. It would make the tarmac crew (who would already be jumpy from the bribes) less quick to startle. They’d all meet up on the road right next to the hangar.

“I’ll see you out at the main road.” Dorian said with a casual wink, giving a two-finger salute and letting himself fall backwards towards the black ocean below. Sydney knew that logically he’d be just fine and she’d see him in a few minutes, but it was still unnerving to watch his body grow small and disappear into the inky waves. 

Demarco landed the plane well, if a bit unsteadily. It rattled and bumped on the tiny runway, nearly dislodging Sydney’s grip on her armrest. The small maintenance crew looked nervous and beady-eyed, lurking on the edges of the plane hangar as they deplaned. Sloan and Deveraux walked up to them, speaking in hushed voices and covertly handing them more money through handshakes. 

“Sell the plane. We were never here.” Sydney heard Sloan say as she passed her by, helping a limping woman get to the main road. 

Ten minutes and a lot of deplaning later, and their group was much smaller. Sloan’s speech on the plane had been motivating and strong: but not strong enough to keep everyone together. Most took some money they were offered and huddled by a bus stop, holding their children or significant others by their hands. They would try and disappear themselves into the Canadian metropolis: new jobs, new rented rooms, new names. They were scared: too scared to stand up and fight. Sydney watched a young man carry his seven year old son down the street with the rest of the fleers. The boy was so tired he was asleep, tear tracks drying on his face.  _ Maybe it’s best they run _ , Sydney thought.  _ Maybe we should all scatter like rats. Maybe it’s the only way to survive. _

Sydney stood with the remains of the Enhed village: a mere handful in total, including the Ashdown siblings. They said nothing to one another. To mention how their numbers had dwindled from hundreds to less than twenty was heartbreaking. It felt like the end of an era, a cataclysmic event that left them all stranded as post-apocalyptic survivors in an unfriendly and hostile world. 

The group took four cabs they called to St. Johns airport, buying the first tickets they could find to San Francisco. In the back of the cab that Hakim and Sydney shared they looked up Greenland news: Apparently a story was already out about a terrorist group who cut the power to the whole capital to steal one plane. The article was accompanied by a blurry, barely visible photograph of a train of people on ATVs speeding past a gas station. Sydney grimaced: barely anything alarming or dramatic happened in Greenland. This was going to spread like wildfire. 

Hakim looked up from his phone at the thick plastic divider between the driver and themselves. “We’re in a lot of trouble, you know.” He told her. “More than we’ve ever been before. I’ve pulled my siblings out of some deep dark holes they’ve dug themselves, but not like this.”

“Yeah.” Sydney replied. “I figured it was bad when a news article came out in the Times about it. They don’t tend to put filler in their front pages.” 

Hakim scoffed exhaustedly. “Do you think Timur’s idiotic plan will work?” 

She shrugged. “I think he has a lot of experience living in this world; more than me, that’s for damn certain. It’s just stupid enough that we might actually be able to get away with it.” 

“In my opinion, ‘dumb enough to work’ tends to end in disaster. We’re playing a risky game right now: I don’t like our odds.”

Nakita, who was stuck between the two of them, sighed and put a hand over both their mouths. Sydney and Hakim froze at the unexpected violation of their personal bubbles. “You two chat too much.” She said in her thick accent. Nakita had been raised in Enhed: it led to a strong loyalty to her people, and only a recent introduction to English. “Blah, blah, blah. Your words change nothing. We will do what we can when we get to it. Other than that, stop talking.”

The rest of the ride to the airport was uncomfortably silent.

In Sydney’s past, she’d find herself indecisive and unhappy with the littlest decisions.  _ Was it wise to spend some money on an expensive rotisserie chicken? Could she get away with covering two eight hour shifts in one day? Was she a bad person for ignoring her sister’s calls?  _ She doubted all her actions, worried over the tiny and unforeseen consequences they could have on her life. But something about having her life threatened and getting wrapped up in a global human rights conspiracy made that facet of her worries fade away completely. No longer was she doubtful of her choices: either they worked or they didn’t, just as Nakita said. Was the choice they were all making right now, to face the flames instead of scattering before them, a stupid one? Maybe so. But her dedication to it held no hesitation. Either it would succeed or it would fail. Those were the only two outcomes you could count on in life. 

Devereaux was fighting with the printing machine in the ticketing area of the airport, banging on it with his fist and muttering from under his pencil moustache, attracting the attention of several people around them. Sydney took the opportunity to nip out to a drug store on the small kitschy strip opposite them and buy a cheap flip phone. She plugged Hannah’s number in. 

_ Your home phone is bugged. Assembly knows about you.  _

_ Can’t talk, sorry for causing trouble.  _

_ … _

_ Love You.  _

“Ooh, romantic text sending are we?” Dorian said, looking over her shoulder at the last message she sent. “Can I have one?” His tone was humorous for a while, but a brief look of worry shadowed it. “Seriously, who’d you send that to, because I–”

Sydney shut him up with a cocked eyebrow. “It’s to my sister, you idiot.” She said fondly. Dorian looked rather ashamed. “I was just telling her I love her in case your parents somehow see us coming and tear us all to shreds. I want her to know I still care, even after how long I’ve been absent.” 

“Raggedy.” He frowned. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand in times like this, it was matter-of-fact acceptance of death. “We’re not going to get  _ torn to shreds _ . Everything will work out.”

“Oh, really?” Sydney crossed her arms, taking a glance at the vampires gathered around the ticket booth and arguing with a very frightened looking booth attendant. “Because last I checked, this is what my life has been like: A guy took me out to pizza after saving my life. I find out that guy is supernatural, and he panics and  _ abducts  _ me- by the way, _still_ holding that against you. Then I visit his sociopathic parents who use me to push him over the edge so they have an excuse to torture him.”

Dorian was cringing.

“I get _tossed in a trunk_ and used as leverage _again_ against him, and somehow end up in a coupe that involves the _vampire mafia_. I flee the country and leave behind all my possessions, my family, and my life, only to have my new home razed to the ground by _said vampire mafia_. Now I have NO money, NO possessions, NO job, and NO home.” She looked up at him with a glare that could set fire to kindling. “If the safety of a group of people who represent the ideal future for human and vampiric relationships didn’t hang in the balance, you’d best _believe_ I’d be somewhere in Canada right now.” 

“All by yourself?” Dorian asked quietly. 

Sydney ruminated on her rant with surprise. “No.” She huffed in mild shock. “Funny… when I said I’d run away, I just assumed you'd be running with me.” 

He tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to scrutinize her soul. “You’re right.” Dorian said. There was no trace of his usual swagger in his stance or words. “If you wanted to go start a new life in Canada, I would go with you. If you wanted to do it right now, I would kiss this flight goodbye and walk out that door.” He shook his head, smiling almost incredulously. “Never expected to say that to anybody. You wiggled your way into my damn heart, you know that? I’ve courted hundreds of women. It was my  _ favorite  _ hobby. But you… you’ve gotten into my head and I can’t get you out.”

“You’ve discovered my mastermind move: that was my plan from the very beginning. Now you’re stuck with me.” Sydney replied with a half-smile 

“God, I hope I am.” Dorian accepted the open-armed embrace Sydney offered him, resting his chin atop her head. “Hey,” he asked after a moment. “Can I have my phone back?”

“No.” Sydney’s voice was muffled in his shirt. “I need it.”

The vampire gave a long-suffering sigh. 

There was a sharp whistle across the wide hall. They turned to see Sofia waving tickets above the sparse crowd; apparently they’d been successful in getting seats on the flight leaving in twenty minutes.  _ Yep, this is a stupid decision _ , Sydney decided as they hurried through security. But she was sticking to it: for her friends, for Dorian. For herself. 


	22. Chapter 22

_ ’ve changed my mind _ . Sydney thought as they rolled up to the Ashdown estate gate.  _ Actually, I hate this plan.  _ Two security cameras stared down at them like the condemning gaze of a God. Whether they went in now or turned around and left, Godyth and Bernard would know that their co-op extermination plan didn’t take. 

She sat tense in the middle seat of the car, watching Timur and Sloan forcibly pull the iron gate off of its motorized tracks and set it to the side, hopping back in the car as it rolled past. 

But if Sydney thought  _ she  _ was regretting the choice, it was only because she hadn’t looked at Dorian. He was pale-faced and stricken, ramrod straight in his seat. 

“We can turn back if we need to. Come up with another plan.” She told him softly. 

Dorian responded almost too quickly. “No– no, I’m fine.” He cleared his throat. “I just… I don’t want to go down into the cellar, no matter what, okay?”

“Cellar’s off-limits, I got it.” Sydney looked at his unmoving chest. He normally kept up the habit of breathing to make her more comfortable: he must be so stressed out of his mind that his normal facades didn’t present themselves. “Breathe.” She murmured. Dorian took an unsteady, nervous breath. It didn’t seem to help. 

They parked in the same circle as always, right behind Bernard’s El Camino. The front porch light was on even this late into the night. If they didn’t know they were here before, they sure as hell did now: the front door was open. The grand idea of busting into the towering mansion and ripping it from the hands of the sibling’s abusers suddenly seemed less plausible. 

Godyth and Bernard stood directly in the middle of the grand entry hall like two glittering and unchanging celebrities from the golden age of Hollywood. The mild disappointment on both their faces felt wildly disproportionate: like they couldn’t even bring themselves to be surprised at their children’s tenacity, just disapproving. 

Bernard clicked his tongue. “After all we did for you, you still deny us the simple pleasure of listening to one last request from your parents.” 

Godyth nodded sympathetically to her husband. “Indeed, darling. Nowadays it seems you can’t even expect someone to die when you ask them to.” 

“How could you do that to us?” Hakim said. The stoic man was broken, tears in the corners of his eyes. He dared not step forward, taking solace in the crowd of people that he had stalked in with. “How could you do that to _me_? All those years I traveled with you, did anything you asked, killed for you… and you threw it away just because I wanted to protect my own brother? I _loved_ you!” 

“That is  _ exactly  _ why.” Godyth said bitterly. “You were my darling, Hakim. My son with a gift from God. And you know what you did? Reinforced your brother’s delusions. Look at him, he’s worse than ever before. You all are! Prancing about with warmbloods like they’re your friends, you  _ lovers! _ If you would have just trusted me I would have sorted this whole mess out.” 

“You were hurting him, Mother! Father was too!” Hermela clutched Nakita’s hand tightly, eyes wide and afraid: it scared her to be back here, to be in front of the people she put on a pedestal for so long as the height of responsibility and intelligence. “You– you were hurting all of us. And you know what? Your ideals about superiority, about keeping ourselves separate, above the ‘vermin’? Turns out that’s all just  _ bullshit. _ ”

“Young lady, you will WATCH your language around the woman who gave you new life!” Bernard snapped. His vicious tone did not mesh with his calm face and the way his hands were casually tucked into his suit pockets. 

“She gave us no new life.” Timur said quietly. “She took what we already had. We were human. We... _I_ was happy. I had a life, as difficult as it was. You stole that from me and told me to be _thankful_.” 

“Timur…” Godyth’s voice had switched to sweet, crooning. The way the parents shifted through different tactics of persuasion reminded Sydney of a fisherman testing different lures on a line. “Angel. My darling firstborn. Come here,” She extended her arms towards him, “Mother missed you so.” 

“How silver-tongued you are with your words, Godyth.” Sydney remarked bitterly. 

For the first time in months, Godyth’s gaze was back on Sydney. It brought with it the same ancient, bone-chilling terror that it did last time: the feeling of being stalked. But Sydney had friends now, family. She blindly felt for Dorian’s hand. He met her halfway, and her welling fear slithered back into the dark hole it once came from. 

“This is all your fault.” Godyth said quietly. The full force of her frigid words directed at Sydney was even more terrifying than her gaze. “I have spent hundreds of years on this planet’s surface. I have watched plagues rip through weak human flesh, seen the Taj Mahal go up brick by brick. My time on the Earth has not made me jaded: it has made me  _ wise _ . Maybe if my SON–” She paused to bore her gaze into Dorian, “–had listened to that lesson, he wouldn’t be the idiot he is today.”

“Oh, it’s _so_ easy to think that, isn’t it?” Sydney replied. She had spent so many sleepless nights seeing Godyth’s eerie unchanging face in her nightmares, fearing her dehumanizing words and manipulation. It felt like a piece of a puzzle settled into place inside of Sydney’s chest. Suddenly, that paralytic fear of the monstrous woman before her turned to a swelling, blistering anger. “You’ve been through some rough times, Godyth, I get it. The things you’ve seen– they must have been awful. But you’ve taken that pain, that hatred of the world, and shaped it into the image of humanity. You hide behind your age, claiming intelligence when it’s actually nothing but willful ignorance!” 

Bernard looked borderline feral. “You know nothing about–”

“No, I don’t.” Sydney snapped. “But when it really comes down to brass tacks, it’s  _ so  _ much easier to hate the things that cause you pain than try and understand them, right?” 

Wind blew through the open door, ruffling the hair of the twelve unwavering individuals and bringing with it the scent of spring nights and saltwater. Sydney stood amidst them all, her back bathing in the full moonlight. It lit up the bright red filaments of her hair: firelight at midnight. Dorian held her hand a little tighter at the beautiful sight. 

Bernard sighed and smiled in an amicable way. He looked like he had lost a casual game of poker to a good friend. The scholarly vampire looked towards his wife, silently asking permission to a request nobody else could hear. Godyth nodded her head. He took a step forward, hands still in his pockets. 

“I had hoped Lysander would return to us with good news, you know.” He remarked indifferently. “He offered himself to join the Assembly warriors to redeem our family name: if he succeeded, the Red Assembly would permit us to continue to regrow our family from scratch. But I’m almost glad he didn’t come back. Firstly because he’s quite a twisted little man, isn’t he? So much anger. But secondly, because there was a gift I wanted to give you myself, Dorian.” 

Dorian stiffened beside Sydney. 

Bernard rolled his shoulders, sighing. “But I see now that the gift would be far better if delivered to your little pet. Sydney, was it?” He got no response from the woman save for a glare. “I hope you know that this is entirely Dorian’s fault.”

Bernard withdrew a snub-nose revolver from his pocket and fired a shot directly at the center of Sydney’s skull. 

Sydney Busch had always wondered about the whole ‘life-flashes-before-your-eyes’ thing. It seemed so overdone, so tropey at this point. Like something that only happened in direct-to-video movies, or sad romance novels where the heroine died at the end. But maybe it had its roots in truth, because as soon as she heard the gun go off, all she saw was the profoundly lonely yet stunning view of San Francisco city lights at night. So beautiful, so cold from a distance; yet so full of life. The bullet would be in her head any millisecond now, probably only inches away from her.

Somehow, Timur got that first. 

The bullet intended for Sydney’s delicate human skull ripped into Timur’s just below the left eye. Blood sprayed across Sydney’s face and she caught the vampire’s limp body with an almost dreamlike detachment. 

Dorian was down with a cry as Sydney and her brother crumpled to the floor, unable to support the weight of their own bodies. The people around her let loose gut-wrenching screams of rage, of loss. They sprinted forwards at the two Ashdown parents, mobbing them before Bernard could load another shot. Tearing into them with mouths and hands. Shredding them. 

“Come on.” Dorian was on Timur’s other side, holding the head that was resting in Sydney’s lap. Blood pooled down her thighs from his head, a massive gaping hole pressed against the meat of her leg. “Come on!” Dorian screamed. Tears ran freely down his cheeks. Timur was twitching, seizing, the regeneration trying to kick in. The wound wasn’t healing: _ why wasn’t it healing?! _ Dark blood pooled under his skull, ancient and inhuman and cold. 

His last breath ghosted across Sydney’s cheeks and he fell limp. A cold body splayed across her lap: the corpse of a man who had seen extraordinary things in life, and had decided none of them mattered as much as keeping one of his friends safe. 

Dorian was wailing and pressing his forehead to Timur’s, body wracked with sobs. He had just gotten his brother back from the wretched claws his parents had in him, only to have him ripped away by the same people. They couldn’t have him, so now nobody could. His tears fell onto unseeing eyes. Hermela skidded to her knees beside him, quickly joined by every other person in the room. They formed a circle of grief, of pain and loss: linked through the murder of a man who did not deserve to die. 

And just like that, ten became nine. The wind that once pushed at their backs from the open door now dried the tears on their cheeks, as relentless and unforgiving as the rise and set of the sun. 

Someone was slowly clapping.

Sydney raised her head, sniffing away tears. In the doorway to the mansion was a suntanned man. Not just a man… a  _ vampire _ . He stood there, looking at the carnage that had ripped through the room in a matter of seconds with an air of mild amusement. 

“Well now.” He smacked his lips and held up two hands in front of his eyes, framing the people huddled around Timur’s body with his fingers. “This  _ is  _ an interesting display, isn’t it? You all look like some sort of renaissance painting. Quick, someone put their hands together like you’re praying over him.” His voice was lilting and australian: his own words seemed to make him laugh to himself, throwing his head of wavy strawberry-blonde hair back. 

“Oh god.” Hakim breathed, barely audible to Sydney’s human ears. “It’s Chase.”

The vampire– Chase– nodded sympathetically from his place in the door. “It is indeed. Now, as much as I’ve enjoyed this weird little mashup of patricide and filicide, it’s really time to stop. When darling Godyth rang me and my fellow Assembly representative members up, I assumed this was a small rebellion. They come with the territory of rowdy younglings, after all. The first one hundred years are always the hardest.  _ Boy,  _ were we ever surprised that this little fiasco led us right to Enhed! I sent as many warriors over as we could spare.” He made an explosion sound, mimicking his head bursting with two hands. “It blew my mind. We’ve been looking for that place for  _ ages _ . Literally. It’s been hundreds of years.” 

He paused to scratch his head and look at the gory paste that was all that remained of the two oldest Ashdowns. “Man. When Bernard offered to let me stay in the guest house and warned me that things could get a little  _ intense  _ on the property, I didn’t think he meant like this.” 

“... _ You  _ launched the attack on my village? Slaughtered my people?!” Sloan seethed. She launched forward from the back of the group. Hakim was barely able to hold her back. 

“Sloan, no!” He said. He looked wan and frazzled. “Don’t touch him. That’s one of seven of the most well-connected people on the planet right now.” 

Chase shrugged with a grin. He certainly didn’t  _ look  _ like what Sydney envisioned an Assembly member to be. There was no billowing robe, no air of formality. If anything he looked like an eager overseas tourist, dressed in the ‘I heart CA’ shirt he was sporting. 

“It’s true, but I don’t like to brag.” He cracked his knuckles. “Now. You’re all  _ very  _ good at the whole ‘rugged survivors’ shtick, especially you Ashdown children. But now you have two choices: come with me quietly and face your sentencing at a public hearing, or kill me where I stand and face the full consequences of the Assembly breaking things you love until you turn yourselves in. I don’t care either way.”

Sydney was struck by the chilling vision of warriors storming Hannah and Toby’s home. Hurting them. Looking up her old college acquaintances and slowly killing them off one by one until the guilt of their deaths forced her hand. Sydney was excellent with dealing with her own pain: God only knew she had grown used to dealing with it by herself. But when pain was inflicted upon those she cared about?  _ That  _ pissed her off. 

She rose to her feet. “You should leave, Chase.” Sydney bit out. “Right now. Or you might frighten my delicate human sensibilities and make me do something drastic.” She withdrew Dorian’s phone from her pocket and unlocked it. 

Chase gasped in mock shock. “No! Technology, my one weakness!” 

Sydney refused to take the bait. She turned the screen towards Chase, set the volume to full, and clicked play. It was the video she had been working on for months: her masterpiece as she had taken to calling it. Ten whole minutes of extraordinarily detailed information on vampirism: healing rates, fang extension mechanics, and social values. The voiceover was accompanied by diagrams she had carefully drawn, explaining all sorts of factors of vampire physicality and dynamics. Clip after clip of vampiric inhumanity played: Hakim lifting boulders, vampires tossing one another hundreds of feet in the air, slicing their palms on gutting knives and healing seconds after. It was the most comprehensive and well put-together piece of media Sydney had ever made in her life: her marketing professor would have wept tears of joy at the sight. 

But footage could be altered and facts could be faked. The real damning evidence was the  _ lists  _ Sydney gave. Name after name of vampires in positions of power that she’d learned about at her time in Enhed. Military officials. Parliament members. Pop stars, millionaires, and congresspeople. Name after name, place after place to look for information, to put the pieces together.

“It comes with download links for the raw videos,” Sydney explained evenly, “for footage doctoring tests. Pretty neat how succinct it is, isn’t it? I made it just in case Godyth or Bernard tried to pull the same ultimatum trick on me like you’re doing right now. The video file has already been sent to a number of my friends: and you better  _ believe  _ it’s going to be advertised on every media service for months to come unless I tell them not to post it. And you know what? Even if it doesn’t take at first, it will. We humans are funny like that. When we finally see the truth, no matter how unlikely or obfuscated it may seem, we latch onto it and don’t let go. If this video goes out, you’re gonna have a couple million people asking some very uncomfortable questions.” 

“Jesus Christ. I knew humans were idiots, but you’re downright insane.” Chase said faintly. His cocksure attitude had evaporated. “Don’t you understand that if that goes public,  _ your  _ friends will be in danger too? You little fleshy creature. You’ll be starting a  _ war  _ that will undo our centuries of careful cohabitation.” 

“ _ You  _ started a war when you massacred a village full of innocent people. Vampires, humans. Children. Whatever happens next is on  _ you _ .” She shut the phone off with a forceful press of a button. “So now you have two choices: You walk out of this house and tell your Assembly to leave our group and our  _ friends  _ alone in peace, or you send warriors in to kill us in a few days and force my associates to upload the video when I don’t check in.  _ I don’t care either way. _ ” 

The Assembly member struggled to regain a little of his composure. He straightened, brushing invisible dust off his shirt. “You’re a clever little meatbag, I’ll give you that.” He said. “Fine. I’ll leave. But I really, truly hope you know that you’ve made the biggest mistake yet. We can’t leave this alone: not when you’re so openly defiant. Makes us look bad, you know?” 

“Get  _ out _ .” Sydney hissed. 

Chase raised his hands. “Fine, fine. I’m leaving.” He took one last long look at the red viscera that was once Bernard and Godyth Ashdown, then whirled around and rushed into the night. A motorcycle revved in the distance and tore down the private street, getting fainter and fainter. 

For the first time in hundreds of years, no threat lurked in the halls of the Ashdown estate. 

Sydney sagged like the batteries had been pulled out of her. “God, I’m so glad that worked. I was worried he would call my bluff.” She sank to the floor, head between her knees: the shakes from being shot at, seeing her friend killed, and threatening an extremely powerful vampire were starting to set in. 

“Wh– you– that was…  _ that was a bluff _ ?!” Sofia said helplessly. The poor woman looked seconds away from spontaneously combusting. 

“Mmmyep.” Sydney sounded a little loopy and out of it, head still between her knees. “Haven’t sent the video to anyone, just downloaded it on to Dorian’s photos. No raw file attachments either. If that guy had magically pulled some Assembly warriors out of nowhere, that piece of leverage would have died with us.” Her head was spinning. Had she done it? Did they win?  _ Was this something we could ever actually win _ ? 

The answer echoed back to her. It was a resounding NO. How do you fight off hundreds or thousands of creatures who all blindly believe in a set of ideals simply because it was what they were taught? “This is just a stopgap.” Sydney said faintly. “We need to come up with… a  _ real  _ plan… soon… I think I need a glass of water.” 

* * *

Hakim and Hermela buried the corpse of their oldest brother up a nearby cliff that overlooked the sea. Dawn was threatening to break over Santa Cruz, painting the sky a hazy pink. Sydney and Dorian sat side-by-side on the cool stone front steps of the mansion, door still open, watching the rest of the group running around to check the perimeter and reinforce the entry gate. 

They said nothing. A particular brand of quiet numbness permeated them both. It made them quiet, contemplative. The relief of scaring off a member of the Assembly and putting the Ashdown parents down was tempered with the death of their dear friend, leaving them in an odd sort of emotionally neutral yet volatize zone neither one of them had been to before. 

Dorian scratched drying blood off of his hands and forearms. Sydney took another sip from her glass of tap water. 

“Weather’s gonna be nice today.” 

“Yeah. Probably mid seventies.” 

They lapsed into silence once more. Then, Dorian let out one single dry laugh. Which in turn prompted Sydney to snort into her drink. They triggered one another like microphone feedback, eventually dissolving into fits of incredulous laughter. They were alive. People were dead. More people might die, they might not: but  _ they were alive _ . 

“Oh,” Sydney said between laughs, “Oh, this is bad. We’re involved in some dangerous stuff.” 

“We might die!” Dorian wheezed out, grinning and running a hand through his hair. 

“This whole thing is a goddamn nightmare!” Sydney chuckled. They leaned against one another’s shoulders, still spasming with humor. Seagulls began to start up their shrieking calls as the sun crested the horizon, a distant orange sliver over the oak-covered hills. Dorian’s hand was on Sydney’s, seeking comfort. Always seeking comfort in her touch, her presence, her smile. They resonated like that: tuning forks, they were. Always finding the same wavelength in one another. Sydney side-eyed the man next to her. It was funny. She never pictured herself dedicated to another person. Relationships always felt sticky, complex, unattractive. It was hard to depend on someone that much.

“Can I tell you a secret, Adonis?” She murmured centimeters from Dorian’s ear. 

“Always, Raggedy.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

He turned to look at her with those big brown eyes of his. Those eyes that had seen so many things, consumed so much of the world. “Say that again.”

“I’m in love with you.”

Dorian’s hot breath ghosted across Sydney’s lips. “Good lord,” He breathed. “I could listen to you say that all day. You beautiful, scary, extremely fascinating woman. I love you.”

Their shared kiss didn’t make the bodies laying in the snow disappear. They didn’t undo the months of starvation Dorian endured, or the months of manic depression Sydney experienced. It wasn’t a magical cure-all. And that was a good thing. If it was, there would be no reason to move forward, to strive and struggle to grow and overcome. Instead it simply strengthened the bridge between them, connecting them just a little bit more. And they needed that desperately.

Because life was a strange, fickle thing. Sydney Busch discovered this through her friends and newfound family. It broke you down and built you up in infuriating and unpredictable increments, delivering pain and pleasure at random intervals with no rhyme or reason. Sometimes, life sucked. But sometimes it didn’t. And it was then that Sydney learned she didn’t have to see the world in shades of grey, but in brilliant colors and hues that were stunning and blinding and worth all the trouble in the first place.


	23. Chapter 23: Epilogue

“Augh, gross.” Chase grumbled, slapping a horsefly that bit deeply into his arm. He had been immortal for two hundred years and the little devils  _ still  _ wouldn’t leave him alone. He readjusted his shades against the bright glare of the sun that hung high over Kauai and continued to crunch across the sugar-white sand of the private lagoon. 

A woman seated at a small nearby tiki bar waved to him idly. He saluted, taking a seat beside her. Her legs dangled idly from her bench seat, her wide sun-hat casting a shadow over her face. 

“Nice place you got here.” Chase said with a low whistle. The lagoon was a brilliant blue-green, overlooked by steep jungle hills that housed a large private lodge nestled into them. All sorts of birds and animals chirped and called over the sound of the lapping waves. 

“Yes, isn’t it?” She replied, taking a deep drink of her pina colada. “It’s so hard to find nice private places on this island anymore. I wish it was 1880 again, even for a day, just so I could walk the bigger beaches without falling face-first into a bunch of sunburnt humans. But yes, the house is nice. Belongs to an elderly retired couple who I’m sure will wash ashore in a week after a tragic boating accident.” 

“Mm. Truly a pity.” Chase agreed. He clicked his fingers at the terrified human bartender who was covered in bruises and cuts. “Make me one of whatever Ms. Momoko’s having, Mr. Hang-ten.”

“I didn’t peg you for a recreational drinker, Chase.”

“Is it so wrong that I like to treat myself every once in a while?” Chase eyed the bartender up and down. “I’ll eat something more... substantial later.”

“You’re welcome to anything in my fridge.” Momoko smiled around her swirly straw. She was a lithe, small woman with warm, dark hair and almond eyes that looked at you like they saw into your very soul. A single curved scar sat near the bridge of her nose. “Did you bring Bernard’s compound with you?”

“...Momo, I’m going to say a few things, and I don’t want you to be mad at me when I’m done saying them.” 

“ _ Jesus,  _ Chase, seriously?” Momoko said fiercely. She snatched up the knife out of the bartender’s hands and began anger-chopping some pineapple slices to put into her drink. “I know you made the right call beating a retreat from the Ashdown estate: God knows the last thing we need is a viral campaign on our hands. But you didn’t even get the  _ compound _ ? Didn’t you say Bernard shot his own son in the head with the damn stuff?” 

“He did, but what was I supposed to do, Momo? Say ‘okay I’ll leave now, but can I have that gun your dad just shot your brother with? Yeah, it’s got a chemical superweapon he was developing coating all the bullets, and I need to reverse engineer it’.” 

Momoko rubbed her eyes. No amount of ocean waves and coconuts could get rid of  _ this  _ tension. “Literally anything would have been better than leaving it with them. I bet they already noticed that their brother couldn’t regenerate from one single bullet wound. They’re probably wondering why that is.” 

Chase scoffed and drained the rest of his drink. It really was a pity that he couldn’t get properly hammered anymore. “Ten bucks says they buried him and forgot about it already. That group has balls, as misguided as their intentions are, but they’re dumber than a box of rocks. Honestly, I don’t know why you’re so worked up: I told you I had it covered. You didn’t need to call me and check up on me like some sort of overbearing babysitter.”

Momoko carefully set down her drink before driving the paring knife directly into Chase’s clavicle. Brackish red blood welled around it: the bartender flinched backwards with a fearful gasp. 

Chase made a noise of disappointment. “Oi! This was one of my favorite shirts! It’s got flamingo patterns on it: I  _ love  _ flamingos.” He pulled the blade out with a sickening slurp. 

“Just get inside the house. The rest of the Assembly is already there. Lysander too. Oh, and Chase... be sure to break the news of his parent’s murder at the hands of his siblings to him, alright?”

Chase grumbled as he walked away over the sandy beach and up towards the house, muttering about expensive clothes and total disregard for appearances. 

“Another colada, cutie.” Momoko winked at the bartender who started blending ice and coconut cream with shaking, captive human hands. Normally she wasn’t big on human food for human food’s sake. But this little fiasco with the Ashdowns was getting out of hand, fast: so she was going to enjoy her drink while she had the chance. Who knew when she’d have a chance to relax like this again? Momoko sipped her fresh drink and watched the waves roll in and out of the lagoon, hating the feeling in her gut that told her the Assembly’s problems were just beginning.


	24. "The Bridge": Part Two

**"The Bridge": Part Two**


	25. Book 2: Ch. 1

The dog crate door opened, and the tropical bartender burst out and began to run like the devil was at his heels. He crashed through the tropical underbrush, stumbling and gasping for air as he did so. His mind was flooded with a thoughtless sort of panic that threatened to overwhelm him fully until he was nothing but a trembling shell. A jagged rock sliced at his calf as he clumsily slid down a sharp incline of the tropical island’s hills, but he did not slow. He  _ could  _ not slow.

He was being hunted.

Shapes moved in the brush around him, laughing, mocking. A face appeared from behind a tree in front of him and he cried out, switching directions. He hadn’t eaten in days. He was dizzy, hungry. Terrified. 

Chase laughed amicably at the sight, keeping pace with an easy jog. “You take far much pleasure in this, Momo.” He said agreeably to the small woman to his right who had sprung from the tree line. Her short black hair was blown away from her chiseled face and narrow chin in the tropical wind. “You’d think after all these centuries you’d tire of this game.” 

“Oh, I never tire of a nice hunt.” Momoko’s grin was all teeth. “It’s good for the soul. Don’t you think so, Lysander?”

The newest member of the Red Assembly jogged behind Chase and Momoko. While they ran like they were about to finish a race they loved, he ran like he was doing a militant training program: no smile and all action, each movement perfectly coordinated and repeated. “Whatever you say, Ms. Momoko.” He commented neutrally. He kept his bubbling rage about the news of his parent’s deaths hidden neatly below his surface, like the insides of a volcano. 

Momoko winked. “There’s a good man.” 

A fourth vampire skirted up behind them. “Enough of this.” He snapped. His long hair, a dark curtain interspersed with strands of grey, fluttered away from his face in the warm tropical wind. 

Chase missed a step, spitting his dishwater-blonde wavy hair out of his mouth and narrowing his green eyes. “Zhuang. I didn’t know you were coming with us.”

Zhuang grit his teeth and leapt over a fallen, moss-covered tree. He was a thin, timeless sort of man with a short braided beard and frown lines on his forehead. “I’m  _ not _ . You’re all frittering your time away on frivolous activities while the remaining Ashdowns are out there with information they’re  _ not supposed to have _ . No thanks to you, Chase.” With that he caught up with the battered, frightened bartender. 

With a violent lashing-out of his arm he broke the terrified human’s spine; he fell to the earth with a thud, lifeless. A quick and painless death. Chase made a disappointed noise in the back of his throat and ground to a halt in the rich jungle underbrush.

“And stop playing with your food.” Zhuang sighed disappointedly. He turned to Lysander, who looked more than ready to go back to the council’s temporary meeting place; he’d been begrudgingly dragged out here to hunt but conceded without argument. At this point the blonde vampire would do anything to maintain a sense of family, even with people as cold and calculating as the Red Assembly members. 

Zhuang squared his narrow shoulders. “Lysander, I need you to understand something right now. Chances are that within the next few weeks, you will be responsible for killing several, if not all of your siblings. Now, what I need to know…” He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the man under the hot tropical sun. “Is if your emotions are going to get in the way of the greater good.”

A cool breeze swept across the coast, bringing the smell of salt and sand with it. Here Lysander stood, on a different continent and without any real family, all because Dorian couldn’t keep it in his pants. And because his siblings were selfish enough,  _ cruel  _ enough, to side with him instead of the people who they owed their lives to. 

The Ashdown squared his shoulders. “No.” He rumbled. “They’ve violated the ideals and codes that keep us safe. They need to be dealt with.” There was more venom than logic in his tone.

Zhuang never smiled. But if he did, now would theoretically be a time that he would. “Good. Because we’re sending you out to help coordinate an emergency global assembly in Egypt; a country that I firmly believe your old family members will discover they need to travel to any day now. And when they do…”

“I’ll wring their damn necks.” Lysander growled. 

“Ease up there, tiger.” Momoko warned, idly nudging the dead bartender with her shoe. “Your fighting prowess is all well and good, but keep a hold on that anger. You’re no use to us when you’re throwing a fit.”

Chase made an impatient, childish sound behind all of them. They all turned to see him kneeling by the dead body, scratching at his teeth with a fingernail. “Yes, yes, we get it. We have a lot to do. Can we eat now?” He grinned at the irritated sigh Momoko huffed out in response.

“Whatever. Just get back to the meeting before sundown. We all have planes to catch tomorrow.” Zhuang replied. He did not indulge in the feast that the others were already turning to: he was older, more in control. And he’d already killed another, today. Instead, he turned on his heel and left, head already filling with thoughts, worries, and machinations he couldn’t even share with these people, the ones he claimed he trusted most. He was very deep into the humid forest before the scent of blood even permeated the air. 


	26. Book 2: Ch. 2

It had been three days since Sydney had managed to scare Chase off, and they had heard nothing but radio silence from the Red Assembly. Maybe it had worked, but maybe it hadn’t: it felt too soon to tell, too soon to relax and let down her guard. 

This was infuriating, because it felt like everybody in the world was trying to act like everything was going to be perfect from now on. From her boyfriend, to his sisters, to the refugees from Enhed. It was odd‒ their denial, and the fear that simmered under its surface, was very human.

Sydney watched Hermela’s newest love interest, Nakita, flip another pancake in the pan. It landed perfectly in the middle with a satisfying sizzle, and the tan-skinned inuit pumped her fist in victory, watching the steam rise up off of it in the shafts of late morning sunlight that filtered through the ornate kitchen windows. The remnants of her last poor pancake flip lay splattered on the marble countertop beside her: vampiric strength had her overestimating the height one pancake could be launched. 

“Another one?” Nakita asked Sydney, gesturing to her syrup sticky and empty plate. 

Sydney shook her head full of untamable red hair and smiled tightly. The vampire opposite her shrugged and deposited the pancake onto a large plate to save for later. If there was one small benefit to having her world torn down around her, it was that Nakita was  _ very  _ good at cooking because of her human-integrated lifestyle. 

Sydney tapped her stress-bitten fingernails on the polished wood of the table. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Nakita continued to flip pancakes without a care like this was any lazy Sunday morning. Sydney couldn’t  _ stand  _ it. For all they knew the Assembly was getting ready to flood their little gated homestead with warriors  _ today _ . Why was everybody so goddamn calm?

She slapped her fork down onto the table, her thoughts overwhelming her. Nakita side-eyed her, catching the pancake she was flipping without even glancing at it.

“I’m‒ I’m going for a walk. Stomach ache.” Sydney patted her stomach unconvincingly and fled the scene. It was bad enough that everyone was off doing their own thing instead of sitting together and planning for an imminent attack. Hanging out in the kitchen, or anywhere in the house, gave her the chills. This whole mansion felt like it was full of ghosts. How could any of the Ashdowns stand to set foot in it, with all that had happened here?

_ Because they don’t have a choice _ . A voice in the back of Sydney’s mind said. She sighed, tucking her hands into her baggy pants pockets and wandering up the hall. It was true. Where else could they go right now? They had to stay here, so they  _ had  _ to live with the horrible memories of this house: but to acknowledge them would be to face them, and she was pretty sure nobody in this home was ready to look down the barrel of the gun that was dead parents and a sacrificed son. Even  _ she  _ pushed that thought out of her mind as soon as it came in. Like it was poisonous. She didn’t have the energy or the stomach to process it. Not now. 

She wiped some pancake crumbs off her shirt. There hadn’t been any human food in the house to begin with. Dorian had gone out to shop several times, despite Sydney’s loud protests. It felt like ever since he had confessed his love to her on the porch, he had been taking unnecessary risks. He was going out too frequently, driving too far out under the pretense of ‘picking up supplies’ or ‘buying groceries’. She warned him that he was putting himself in unnecessary danger, that he was threatening the safety of the group with his risky exits: the Assembly could snatch him up and use him as leverage at any time. Every time she complained Dorian would turn to her with a strange, almost stifled look on his face, and tell her to stop worrying. That she was being too dramatic. She wasn’t being too dramatic! 

Was she?

Sydney found herself wandering into the decorated entryway, and froze. Nobody walked through here: they all took the back door to get in and out of the house. And now she realized why. This place felt...cold. Wrong. Like the death that had happened here before her eyes still stained with floors, the walls, the air. Demarco was a good man: he volunteered to wash up the blood and assorted viscera. But he couldn’t scrub away the lingering pain.

The gun that killed her friend still lay on a nearby table. Even in a house full of vampires with near-magical regenerative powers, everyone was still afraid to touch it, like it was cursed. Sydney approached it blankly.  _ How could one bullet kill Timur? I saw him regenerate two hands after a boat propeller incident in Enhed.  _ Her fingers drifted along the rotating barrel. It was as cold as ice. She popped it open and dropped a bullet into her hand, worrying the inside of her cheek with her teeth. Sometimes, when there was a story to be told, or a truth to be uncovered, she could feel it like a hook in her gut. Her sister always jokingly called it her ‘sixth sense’. It was awake now, grabbing her by the shirt collar and yelling in her ear that there was something more to Timur’s death.

Somewhere behind her there was the telltale sound of scrubbing. She turned around to see Hermela on the staircase a few dozen feet above her, attacking a set of Japanese kabuki masks with a wet cloth and spray bottle. She’d been cleaning like an absolutely maniac the past several days: Sydney supposed that was her way of coping, even if it was oddly violent for housework.  _ Guess you can’t think about your terrible situation if you’re using all your brainpower to organize and tidy. _

“Hermela?” Sydney said. Her voice echoed in the high-ceiling room. 

“Mmm.” Hermela responded, not looking up from her determined cleaning. 

“You’ve recovered from a head wound before, right?”

Hermela’s work slowed for a second, but she continued. “Yeah. Got a good part of my 

skull blasted off by an overzealous farmer’s shotgun. Why?”

Sydney didn’t want to mention Timur, so she didn’t reply. She held the bullet up by the casing and twisted it back and forth in the light. It was hard to tell because it was the same color as the bullet itself, but it seemed to be dusted in some sort of powder that shimmered in the light. She swiped at it with the pad of her finger: it came away a deep, almost orange coppery color. When she brought it to her nose she discovered it smelled almost sickly-sweet. Sydney was no expert but she was fairly certain most ammunition didn’t come with a heavy coat of a mysterious, sweet smelling substance. Its appearance tickled that ‘sixth sense’ center of her brain. More and more often her gut had proved to be right, so she went with it, emptying a few of the bullets into an empty crystal ashtray and heading off to find someone for a second opinion. The only person she could think of that could see the ammo and not flinch at the memories was Hakim; last she knew he was helping manage Lysander’s many horses in his absence. 

Birds tweeted and crooned outside in the balmy seaside weather, creating a joyful and relaxed atmosphere Sydney couldn’t participate in; it didn’t mesh with the overwhelming gloom and denial that hung over the house. She bumbled down the rocky and uneven pathway to the stables, trying not to trip in the hidden gopher holes. She inevitably did. Normally Dorian would be here to steady her arm and make a joking comment on her clumsiness that seemed exclusive to this specific trail. But he wasn’t. He had been around less and less every day. It genuinely worried her. 

Horses whinnied and nickered inside the red barn as Sydney entered, surprising a few pigeons that scattered up off the straw-covered floor. “Hakim?” She called into the open air, jingling the crystal ashtray with her hands. “Where are you? I want to talk.”

There was a muffled shuffling noise, then Hakim emerged from one of the empty horse stalls, straightening his scarf and clearing his throat uncomfortably. Deveraux Blanchet walked out a few seconds later, self-consciously smoothing his narrow moustache with his fingers.

Sydney’s brain blanked, her original purpose forgotten. “What were you‒”

“I never get a damn moment to myself. What do you want?” Hakim said in a prickly manner. 

Sydney swallowed awkwardly, pushing past her questions to find what she actually came here for. She plucked a bullet out of the ashtray and held it up in the light, twisting it back and forth, sunlight glittering and refracting on the powdery surface. Hakim blanched at the sight of it. “I couldn’t get it out of my mind.” Sydney explained. “I’ve seen other vampires take some pretty hard knocks; regrowing parts of limbs, recovering from fractured skulls. Timur… he should have healed from that shot, shouldn’t he have? So why didn’t he?” She gathered some of the strange dull copper-colored powder onto her fingertip. “I don’t know a lot about guns, but this isn’t normal on regular ammunition, right?”

Hakim had his mouth open, aggravated at the name of his lost brother, but paused at the sight of the strange powder. He picked up a bullet casing and rubbed it between two fingers. 

“I’m just… going to head out now.” Deveraux said uncomfortably. The grief that the Ashdowns shared over their lost sibling always made him feel like he should make himself scarce and leave them to their own devices. He snagged his coat from over the side of a horse stall and shot a meaningful look at Hakim. “See you later?”

“Of course.” Hakirm replied softly, turning his attention back to Sydney and the powder as the French vampire moseyed out the doors. 

“Doesn’t look too dangerous to me, if we’re touching it. Maybe I was wrong.” She commented. 

“No, no.” Hakim was quick to respond, “I think you’re onto something. It’s making my fingertips all tingly.” He hesitantly touched the very tip of his tongue to the pad of his finger, and immediately made a disgusted face. “Ugh. You’re definitely onto something.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“It’s… burning. No, not burning. It just feels wrong. My tongue feels hot. It’s definitely not something anyone should be ingesting.” 

Following his example, Sydney touched her tongue with her powdered finger even as Hakim reached to stop her, expression alarmed. She tensed, waiting for the burning sensation. Nothing came. It tasted mildly unpleasant, like rotten fruit, but she didn’t seem to have  _ any  _ reaction to it like Hakim did. The vampire frowned, stumped. At that moment staccato hoofbeats rounded the bend of the barn, followed by a few disgruntled noises. Dorian was wrangling a lithe and angry horse, who seemed to reject his every attempt to guide it into it’s stall with an aggressive nip or dangerous kick. Sydney was immediately irritated again; one swift hit from that animal would break his leg. It was  _ clearly  _ a two or three person job, yet he was doing it all by himself. Sure, he would heal, but that wasn’t the point; where was his self-preservation, his caution? 

“Oh. Hey.” Dorian said with a broad smile as he shut the gate on the angry equine, dodging another lashing bite. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was his ‘charming’ smile, Sydney realized. His seduction smile.  _ He’s using his manipulative and placating smile on me. Why the hell would he do that? What’s he hiding from me?  _

“Oh, good. We could use a second opinion.” Hakim said, seemingly oblivious to the weird energy in the air. “Do you know what this is? It made my tongue burn; it’s not like anything I’ve felt in centuries.” He tossed the last shell casing to Dorian, who caught it and ground at the powder with a fingernail, coating it in the stuff. His brow furrowed as he examined it. 

Sydney was struck by just how beautiful he was. Touchably soft and curly black hair, glowing dark olive skin, and a myriad of ear piercings that glittered in the dusty sunlight. His heavily-lashed eyes were sharp as they examined the evidence in his hand. Dorian Ashdown was a creature of timeless, youthful beauty (as made quite apparent by his long history of flirtatious escapades)… which made his quick turnaround and avoidance of her over the past few days all the more heartbreaking. A small part of her, a part she thought was long-dormant, whispered that maybe he’d finally realized he was wrong about telling her he loved her. That he was distancing himself from her so it would be easier for him to break it off, even after all they’d been through. That same small part of her expected that outcome all along. 

“These were the same shots dad was going to fire at me?” Dorian asked, not looking away from the powder. “The same that killed Timur?” 

“Yes.” Hakim replied. “They’re covered in something that seems to affect our kind. Sydney thinks that’s what stopped Timur from regenerating, but we don’t know for sure.” 

“Only one way to find out.” Dorian said matter-of-factly. Sydney opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but was stunned into silence when Dorian slashed his sharp fingernail deeply across the skin of his forearm, the large quantity of mysterious powder on his finger mixing into the bright red slash.

The trio waited, frozen, for Dorian to fall over dead like Timur had. 

Dorian hissed after a few seconds, clenching his fist. A few drops of scarlet blood dribbled down his arm. “Ow.  _ Ow _ . Sweet baby Jesus that hurts.” The edges of the wound tightened a bit, like it was trying to stitch itself closed, but it remained open. Dorian wasn’t healing. Dorian was feeling  _ pain _ .

“...What the  _ hell _ , Dorian?!” Sydney spluttered. Her heartbeat had skyrocketed when she saw him dig into his own flesh, and it was only pumping faster at the sight of his self-imposed injury‒ his self-imposed  _ idiocy _ . 

“What? Now we know what it does. Clearly it's poison. A poison that works on vampires. How did Bernard get his hands on it?” Dorian replied. He was quick to try and move the conversation forward, looking away from Sydney’s stunned expression in favor of clamping his fingers around his bleeding arm. 

“You didn’t know what it  _ did _ ! It could have poisoned your whole system! You could have died because you didn’t even stop to  _ think _ !” Sydney spat. 

“Stop being so dramatic.” Dorian retorted. His tone, and his eyes, were colder than Sydney had seen before. Like he was trying to shut her out. 

Hakim seemed to finally register the tension in the air and tried to change topics again. “A few decades ago Bernard fancied himself an amateur chemist and messed around with some fundamental compounds. I doubt that he was competent to make something  _ this  _ dangerous, but then again… it was on his gun. Either way, he got his hands on some sort of anti-vampiric poison, and we need to know more.” He pursed his lips pensively before making up his mind. “We need to tell the others. They all should know.”

* * *

Everyone was gathered in the kitchen, crowded into corners and taking up all the seats at the decorative dining table. The massive living room would have fit them all better, but it just felt bad to stand in after all that had happened. A cluster of gazes bored into Sydney’s face, and into her clammy hands that held the poison-dusted bullets. Now that she knew what they could do to her friends, just holding them made her nervous. 

“I don’t even know  _ where  _ to start with this.” Hermela said after Sydney had explained all she had just learned. “Where would Bernard get something like that?” 

“We were thinking he made it. Remember his tinkering with that chemistry setup a few centuries ago?” Hakim replied.

“There’s no way he was studied enough to  _ make  _ it, though.” 

“That’s what we thought.” 

“Either way,” Sydney crossed her arms as she interjected, “he had it. We should search the house. Hermela, you’re the oldest‒”  _ the oldest now _ , the unspoken words rang out, “‒where do you think Bernard would have kept something like this?”

Hermela tossed her braids over her shoulder and hummed in thought. “Their bedroom, absolutely. I’m tempted to say he’d keep it in his study, but… his intentions with whatever that stuff was were vengeful, emotionally driven. He’d keep it somewhere safer.” She shook her head. “But I don’t…” She paused again to huff. “I don’t want to go up there. Everything has been too… too recent for me.” 

The rest of the Ashdowns seemed to mirror this sentiment, looking off to the side or down at their shoes. The refugees from Enhed also avoided eye contact, unwilling to put themselves in such a poisoned and historically-laden part of the house. Nobody wanted to go up there. It would feel too much like walking in Godyth’s and Bernard’s long shadows. 

Sydney stifled a sigh. “I’ll do it. Can’t promise that I won’t make a mess, though.” She gingerly put the casings in the middle of the kitchen island and headed up one of the winding staircases to the upstairs: a place she’d spent as little time in as possible. She’d only been up there twice, and then she’d only glanced down the hallway at the various ornate doors that lined it. 

“Wait up.” Dorian hurried up beside her, taking the marble step two at a time with his hands casually in his pockets. Childishly, Sydney said nothing, hoping her silence would prompt him to asking what was wrong so she could point out all his recent idiotic and dangerous behavior. But it didn’t, and he remained silent, ambling alongside her like they were going for a park stroll. 

Sydney was just about to speak her mind when she came face-to-face with what she was absolutely sure was the most embellished and well-decorated bedroom she had ever seen. The two floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the driveway were draped in richly tasseled and layered curtains. The queen-sized bed had a four-poster canopy and a mountain of embroidered pillows. On every wall were shelves of relics, complicated tapestries, and expensive-looking paintings. A four foot tall statue of Anubis stood in one corner, its golden paint glittering in the weak sun that filtered through the gauzy drapes. The whole room was like walking through a museum exhibit. Was this really all a collection of Godyth’s time walking the Earth?

She was halfway through rifling across the titles books in an ornate bookcase when she noticed Dorian was frozen in the doorway. He had clearly underestimated how much this place would affect him. The wide room was thick with the perfumed scent Sydney had smelled the first time she came to the manor: a complex and dark bouquet of violet and rose. Godyth’s fragrance. Dorian smelling it so strongly for the first time in months must have been a smack to the face.

Sydney begrudgingly sat back on her heels. “Something wrong?” 

Like a switch being flipped Dorian stood up straighter and plastered another charming smile on his face. “Nah. Let’s keep digging.” Another lie.

Together they made their way through the room’s contents, displacing music boxes and checking inside well-stocked closets. Sydney hesitantly checked underneath the large bed pillows, but doing it just felt… wrong. Eerie. She didn’t want to touch the place where Dorian’s parents had laid their heads. And there was no other reason for vampires to really own a bed, other than…  _ ugh _ . She snatched her hand away and opted to rifle through a nearby desk’s drawers. 

About two hours later Sydney set a Fabergé egg down on a shelf with a disheartened expression. She leaned forward morosely and let her head rest against the tall Anubis statue with a hollow clunk.  _ Hollow?  _ She thought distractedly. Sydney brought her knuckles up to the carved Egyptian god and rapped. It  _ was  _ hollow. She felt around the seam excitedly, her fingers running over a small brass latch that she quickly flipped. The front of the statue swung open. Dorian poked his head out from where he was searching under the bed and scrambled over. 

Inside there were three rudimentary shelves filled with test tubes, a well-used boiler, and a distillation stand which held a round bottle filled with the same coppery powder they had seen before. On the lowest shelf was a clay vessel the size of a football and a leather-bound journal. 

“Jackpot.” Dorian commented. 

They both reached for the round bottle of the mystery compound at the same time, their hands colliding: they both clearly wanted to secure the mystery substance, and keep the other safely away from it. Dorian shot Sydney an indecipherable look. “I got it.” 

She pushed his hand out of the way and snatched up the bottle. “I’ll carry it. I’m not the one who’ll be affected if it breaks all over me.” 

_ That  _ seemed to prickle Dorian. He reached for it again. “I told you, it’s fine, I got it. I can make my own choices.”

“ _ What  _ is your problem?” Sydney said, snatching the journal up and hopping off the floor. Dorian conceded and grabbed the clay vessel by both handles. “I don’t know what’s gotten up to you lately, Dorian, but I swear you’ve got a freakin’ death wish.” 

Dorian was out the door before she could finish her sentence, leaving her to lean her head back and make an exasperated noise in the back of her throat. Now she was  _ genuinely  _ angry. No, not angry. Scared. Not only had he been risky and unboundaried the past few days, he was actively ignoring any intervention. Realistically she knew it wasn’t her fault, it couldn't be: she hadn’t changed how she was at all. But a part of her‒ her old, sick, sad part‒ still wanted to take the blame. Having the problem be on her shoulders… it hurt less than the alternative.

They brought the vessel downstairs to the kitchen, and it drew all the occupants of the house into the room like flies to honey. Sofia, the sweet and kindhearted friend she was, took it out of Sydney’s hands with a calming, assured smile that was framed by her cherubic cheeks and warm brown hair.  _ I don’t want another worry stacking up on you _ , the smile read. Immediately, the room flooded with the pungent and sickly smell of fermenting fruit as Sofia used all her strength to pop open the thick cork seal on the clay vessel. The entire collective of people groaned and a chorus of demands to put the stopper back in bombarded the youngest Ashdown until she finally did. 

Sloan, who was perched on a nearby seat, waved a hand in front of her nose. “I think we know where Bernard got the powder. They both smell the same.” 

Sydney shook her bottle. “This was on a burner. Looks like all Bernard did was boil it down and let it aerate. Only trouble is we don’t know what ‘it’ is, exactly.”

“Does it really matter?” Hermela said as she leaned against the counter, holding Nakita’s hand. “We know it hurts vampires. We have it, and the Assembly doesn’t: and I’m  _ sure  _ that even though we don’t understand it now, Bernard’s research journal will fill us in. That gives us a  _ real  _ leg-up on them, unlike your slapdash video that threatened to expose us all to the humans. No offense.” 

“None taken. It _was_ very slapdash; Chase is bound to see through it any day.” Sydney replied. “But it does actually matter what that stuff is. This bottle’s full of the condensed version of whatever’s in the vessel. But there’s not a lot of it. If we use it in the same way Bernard did to keep ourselves safe from the Assembly, soon we won’t have any left. It’s a lofty goal, but we need to know how to make‒ or get‒ more.” 

“I’m betting this little book will… tell us… dammit. This is so typical of him.” Dorian said angrily after cracking open the leather-bound book. He presented it to the room. It was full of row after row of complete gibberish. In the back of the room, someone laughed. 

Everyone turned to see Dean Demarco, the pilot that had flown them out of Enhed, give a short laugh and run a gloved hand over his very dated-looking slicked-back hair. When he realized he was the only one laughing he coughed and shrugged defensively. “What? It's just an atbash cypher; it’s basically just one letter swapped for another. Good for quick confusion, bad for hiding important information. It’ll take a lot of grunt work, but I can translate that journal for you.”

“That would be really great, Demarco. Thanks.” Sydney replied. The bone-deep exhaustion that she hadn’t been able to shake off since their escape from Greenland was crawling back. Somehow the day had slipped through her fingers: it was already almost six o’clock.  _ Time flies when you’re looking for a psychopathic father’s poison he used to kill his oldest son with.  _ “I’m pretty beat. Think I’m gonna retire for the night.”

She was dismissed with a chorus of distracted goodbyes from vampires that stood around the kitchen island, examining the powdered poison or trying to wrap their heads around Bernard’s cipher. They were all banding together in little groups, huddling up for comfort at the revelation of Bernard having owned a poison with the intent of genuinely killing his son. The family, both from Enhed and the Ashdown estate alike, felt fractured. Scattered into a thousand tiny pieces like a china cup. Barely holding onto normalcy by ignoring the thunderclouds growing over their heads. 

The clear California sky was starting to go a soft orange-pink as Sydney rounded the other side of the mansion, heading toward the twin guest houses out on the opposite side of the sprawling beachfront estate. Dorian had claimed one of them as their own the same night they confessed their love to one another, practically kicking down the door in his exuberance to christen their bed. After a long and exhausting period of romantic intimacy, Dorian encouraged Sydney to fall asleep in his arms. 

“I’m just gonna read.” He had said. “Go to sleep.” But when she woke up at around two in the morning from a particularly bad nightmare, he was gone. It had been like that for the past two nights: she would wake up and Dorian would be nowhere to be found. She didn’t want to ask him where he was going, not after he called her overdramatic. But she was reaching her limit. If he was just as avoidant and slippery with her questions after tonight, she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Something was up, and she was equal parts worried and angry. 


	27. Book 2: Ch. 3

By eight o’clock she was showered, fed, and minutes away from crawling into bed in her sweatpants and old t-shirt she borrowed from Sofia. The screen of her temporary flip phone illuminated the nearly-dark living room as another text bubble appeared in the chat she was in. Her sister, Hannah, was doing just fine. At first Sydney had been inconsolably worried about her and her husband: they had a newborn kid only a month ago, after all, and now they had to deal with an enraged Assembly that was likely to make a move on them all at any moment. But Hannah was better at laying low than she gave her credit for. In fact, she had just sent Sydney a grainy photo of an indeterminate and rural location somewhere in Florida. They were safe. It was a fact that soothed Sydney’s nervous heart greatly, but did not heal it. She was the one who endangered them, after all. 

The guest house door swung open and Dorian tossed his keys onto the counter. “Hey babe.” He said casually. Another big smile. “Did you eat yet?” He paused to smell the air. “Pizza rolls. Yeah, you ate.” 

Sydney scoffed dismissively. 

Dorian looked confused. “What?”

“ ‘Hey babe?’ ” Sydney mimicked his tenor. “Seriously? That’s all you have to say?” She watched him instinctively move to distract her by holding her head and planting a kiss atop it. She caught him by the elbows before his fingers could even touch her hair. “You’re not seducing your way out of this one, buster.” 

Dorian made a mildly inconvenienced noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t know what you even mean. The past few weeks have been rough, you’re just tired.” 

“You don’t know what I‒ Dorian.” She put herself on eye level with him. “You have been acting reckless and impulsive and have been avoiding me ever since our first night here! Is this about what you said to me? That you love me? Listen, I can totally understand if you want to backtrack and take things slower, it’s‒” 

“No, no, no.” Dorian said quickly. “That’s not‒ Sydney, I love you. Really, I do. I’ve always been impulsive, you know that.” He ran a thumb over her cheek, and fixed her with that infuriating smile. “What can I say, I’m a spontaneous guy.”

“Hey. Don’t try to diminish this. Those long trips out without another person to back you up? Volunteering to wrangle a horse that could cave your skull in? Testing that mystery poison on yourself without knowing if it would kill you or not? That’s crazy!” 

Dorian was starting to get defensive. “ _ How  _ else were we going to know if it actually did what it did? If I didn’t do that, we never would have chased down Bernard’s journal.” He pulled his hands away from her. “If anything, I took one for the team. You should be thanking me.” 

“Thanking you? You scared me half to death! What if it had killed you?”

“You’re overreacting.” 

That hit Sydney squarely in her already very raw nerves. “ _You_ ,” she ground out as Dorian turned away to tidy up the kitchen, “need to be more _responsible_ when there are people that care about you. People that depend on you being around.” 

Dorian went stiff and unmoving. He felt like he had been flashbanged. Without warning his mind was careening decades back through time, until he was a much younger vampire pressed up against a dirty alleyway wall behind a nightclub in the late 1960s.  _ You idiot _ . Godyth had spat into his face as Bernard and the rest of his family looked on.  _ Your obsession with fraternizing with our food almost got you caught! Despicable boy. I knew it was a mistake turning you.  _ She had released him from her iron grip, dropping him into the mud. He had pleaded with her to take him back; she was the only home he had. She had just sneered.  _ Don’t contact me until you’ve learned to be more responsible for the sake of your family _ . 

“I have been like this… my  _ whole life _ , Sydney.” Dorian said softly, slowly. He turned around inch by inch. 

Sydney was tempted to open her mouth and ask what he meant, but when his face came into view her words caught in her throat. His eyes were volatile, wide and angry. A snarl marred the corners of his lips. 

“The man you fell in love with has been impulsive and uninhibited ever since he was  _ born _ .” His words were venomous. Sydney had never had this kind of aggression directed at her by him before. “I take risks! It’s what I  _ do _ . You can’t expect me to magically  _ change  _ just because you love me.” 

Sydney jumped to her feet. “But that’s what you _do_ in a relationship! You grow, you change! You‒ you adapt to the other person’s needs, just like they adapt to yours. And right now my need is you promising to never do anything reckless like that again.” 

“Oh, like  _ you’re  _ one to talk about recklessness.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“Didn’t you, oh, I don’t know, try to jump off a bridge?” Dorian’s blow was low. He didn’t want to argue: he wanted to hurt her. 

“Don’t you dare compare what I went through to the _selfish_ _crap_ you’ve been pulling!” Sydney yelled. 

Just as the vampire was about to shoot back an equally-angry reply, the guest house door flung open. Demarco strode a few feet in, face buried in Bernard’s leather journal. “You guys are never going to  _ believe  _ what this says!” He crowed, speaking rapidly. “Hermela was right, Bernard didn’t make the poison. He stole it! From a man named Masoud Naser in Egypt‒ more specifically, the Gilf Kebir desert. Oddly enough he refers to it as the ‘potential cradle of our civilization’, which is ridiculous because we all know the Assembly clearly stated vampirism was founded in China by one of our oldest members… am I interrupting something?” 

Sydney looked back and forth between Dorian and Demarco, rage scalding her insides. “Egypt.” She said bitterly. “Just perfect.” She stormed away and into their shared bedroom, shoving on her sneakers and jacket and hauling her bag out from under the bed. She took Hermela’s advice on the plane to heart: always have an emergency travel bag. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dorian demanded, planted in the doorway.

“I’m going to Egypt to get more of the poison, or at least to learn how to make it.” 

Now it was Dorian’s turn to splutter. “That’s stupid. That’s more than stupid. By yourself? No. Not happening. Not without someone to protect you.” 

Sydney shoved past him just in time to see Demarco slowly backing out of the door and disappearing into the night. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m twenty-three. Old enough to drink, old enough to drive, and old enough to  _ go where I want without permission _ .” She stopped at the doorway to turn around and glare at Dorian. “We  _ clearly  _ need some time apart to think about things. In the meantime, I’m going to go to Egypt, find this Masoud guy, and smack him around until I get enough poison for an arsenal to keep the Red Assembly off our backs forever so I can finally stop waking up in a cold sweat every goddamn night.” She drew in a deep, slow breath, trying to calm the roaring in her ears. She knew she wasn’t being sensible right now. But she didn’t care. 

“Please think about this, Raggedy.” Dorian said quietly. For the first time in a while, he looked like he was taking her seriously. He was scared. “I know things have been weird, and I’m sorry. Please, just don’t go.”

“Where do you go at night, Dorian?” Sydney responded softly. 

Dorian did nothing but pale, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. 

Sydney was so disappointed in him that her heart hurt. “That’s what I thought. See you around, Dorian.” With that she closed the door behind her and walked into the twilight evening, a cab company number already dialed up and ringing on her phone. The hasty exit was less for Sydney to follow a lead, and more for her to just get  _ out  _ and  _ away _ , as far as she could, so she could breathe again.

Dorian watched her leave through the window as she hiked across the broad estate, eventually disappearing behind the edge of the oak forest by the main mansion. The guest house was utterly silent before he moved to the kitchen counter with tightened, bloodless knuckles, and swept its contents off onto the floor with an angry yell. Several ceramic plates crashed to the tiled floor and shattered, shards slicing into his legs and healing instantly. 

He raged for a few more moments, unable to contain the frustration pent up inside of himself. But then the frustration fizzled out, as anger always does, leaving him cold and empty and all alone. Dorian sank to his knees on the floor, cupping his face in his hands. 

He was scared. He was very, very scared.

* * *

_ This is stupid. You  _ _ know _ _ this is stupid. Turn back now. Apologize for storming out like an offended teenager.  _

Sydney gritted her teeth and stoically ignored her caterwauling voice of reason that lingered in the back of her skull. She didn’t want to think intelligently about everything for once in her life. Everybody else got to be impulsive, got to make mistakes and stupid decisions. Now it was her turn. Besides… she really  _ did  _ need some time to herself. That argument had shaken her. Was that what the future held for them both?

_ Is  _ _ this _ _ a good way to get alone time, though _ ? That voice said. Sydney stood in front of the airport ticket dispenser, tapping through flights to Egypt with fingers that buzzed with adrenaline. No. This was a dumb choice to make; she was putting herself in danger for a just a slight chance at getting some answers.  _ But better me than anyone else I care about _ , she thought with resolve.  _ I’m tired of seeing people get hurt. I’ll do it myself, even if I have no clue what I'm doing. I’ll make it up as I go along.  _

An arm slung around her shoulders and she nearly jumped out of her skin. 

“So, where are we going?” A sweet voice said in her ear, lilting and warm. Sydney instantly relaxed: it was Sofia. Her closest friend. She turned to see the stocky vampire with her thick braid and her cherubic smile holding her own hard case luggage. 

“Sofia, how did you know where….?” Sydney asked blankly. 

“Oh please.” Another voice rang out from Sydney’s left. It was sharper, more confident, but still just as warm and friendly. “We could all hear you arguing from the other side of the property. You really need to learn to close your windows.” Hermela leaned up against a nearby ticket dispenser, tying her braids into a tight bun and looking stunning as ever.

Sydney flushed in embarrassment. _ God, the whole family heard all that _ . 

Hermela waved her mortified expression away dismissively. “Personally, I think you made the right call. You know, going off by yourself to follow this lead. It’s what I probably would have done anyways.” She paused, struggling with her words. She was never very good at this heart-to-heart stuff, but she was getting better. “I don’t… want to see any more of my family get hurt. And I feel like we owe it to Sloan, to everybody from the village, to take this onto our own shoulders.”

“I  _ am  _ curious, though,” Sofia added, turning back to Sydney, “What was your plan for when you got to the airport? Sweetheart, you know I love you, so you know I say this with utmost care and affection: you’re so broke you can’t even buy a taxi back to the house. How were you going to get tickets to  _ Egypt _ ?” 

“I was‒ it’s…” Sydney sputtered, trying to come up with an answer. Hermela’s mouth quirked into a smile. “I would have figured it out, okay? I just… I just need to get out of here for a little while, and if I can kill two birds with one stone by going to find more of that poison, I’m gonna do it.” She knitted her brow, a bit distressed. 

Sofia rubbed her arm comfortingly. “I know you would have found a way eventually. You’re a resourceful woman.” She paused, and spoke more softly. “We don’t have to talk about what happened with Dorian, okay?”

Sydney smiled weakly. His name was salt in a wound. “Thanks, Sof.” 

With a sigh Hermela was shoving them both apart so she could get to the ticket dispenser they were blocking. “Can we save the mushy stuff until we’re on the plane, guys?” She grumbled as she took out her wallet. But Sydney could tell that even she was in a dour, hurt mood because of everything that had transpired. Covertly sneaking away with her two friends unbeknownst to most of the family was just the cherry on top. 

Sydney exhaled and tried to pull her thoughts away from such sad, stressful things. “Hey, Herms.” She held up her travel bag. “Rule one, always have a bag packed.”

Hermela gave her a genuine smile, even if it was tinged with tension. She held up her own bag. “Always have a bag packed.” She agreed. 

* * *

The world always looked so far away from the top of the Ashdown manor roof. For decades Dorian had climbed up here when family matters escalated to shouting matches. He’d spend a few hours laying on his back on the tiled rooftop, watching clouds drift by or stars slowly rotate across the sky, and by the time he came back down everyone was back to pretending they were all one big happy family with no problems. 

He was up there right now, hands linked underneath his head and focusing on the semitransperency of the mist that covered the moon in patches. Crickets chirped in the late spring air, and waves crashed against the distant shore so faintly that only someone with his extraordinary senses could pick them up. 

The skylight he had used to get up here opened up again, flooding the night with artificial light. Hakim hauled himself out of it with a grumble, taking a second to smooth out his brown hair and straighten his lapel before sitting himself down next to his younger brother. “You really messed up today, you know that?” 

Dorian groaned and covered his hands with his eyes. 

“Letting a squishy human run off to another country when the Red Assembly is still out hunting for us? God, it’s like you don’t care about her at all.” Hakim was clearly being sarcastic, but the words still carried a sting.

His comment made Dorian quickly sit up. “Don’t  _ say that _ .” He snapped. “I would have followed her if I didn’t see Hermela and Sofia leaving right after she left.” He licked his lower lip, brows drawn downwards. “I really… I really care about her.” 

“Then why, and pardon my language, have you been such an insufferable asshole lately?” 

Dorian blinked rapidly, stunned. Hakim, with his trimmed beard and carefully selected wardrobe, looked like the poster child for a clean and detached lifestyle. He’d  _ never  _ been this up-front and confrontational about anything with him, especially personal relationships. “Wh‒ you haven’t mentioned anything about that before!” 

Hakim rolled his eyes. “Of course I haven’t. I’m your brother. You can act as dumb as you want around me, you’re your own person. But I  _ know  _ you really care about Sydney. You wouldn’t want to hurt her. So why are you? And do me a favor, don’t disrespect me by trying to lie. Deveraux and I heard the whole argument.” 

“What were you doing hanging out with Deveraux at eight in the evening?”

“That’s not important. What’s important is that you need to get over whatever weird self-isolating funk you’ve been in lately and hop on the next plane to Egypt. I don’t...” Hakim sighed and readjusted his legs, looking up at the stars. “I don’t  _ want  _ you to go. I think you still haven’t recovered from what Godyth and Bernard did you to, much less what happened in Greenland… and our brother. But I’ve seen you around Sydney.” He turned to his younger brother. “You’re brighter around her. More alive. She makes you happy.” 

Dorian smiled up at the sky. “Yeah,” he admitted, “yeah, she does. I just… ugh!” He growled in frustration and wrapped his hand around his wooden necklace. The carving was rough under his fingers: a present from Sydney laiden with personal sentiment that right now was only making him feel like an even worse person. 

They lay in silence for a few minutes on the rooftop. Hakim knew his brother just needed time to get his thoughts together. 

“My whole life,” Dorian started out quietly, “I’ve been a roamer. Total wildcard, always acting on complete impulse. I never spent more than a few years in a city: hopped from one dance club to the next, one girl to the next. I was  _ free _ . Free to do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted to. But now?” He tightened his grip on the pendant. “I’m  _ scared _ . Scared that I’m going to lose that freedom now that I have someone who depends on me. Who  _ I  _ have come to depend on.” 

With a self-deprecating laugh he looked over at Hakim. “And the worst part about all this? I’m terrified, because I  _ don’t care  _ about losing that freedom as long as I get to be around her. The freedom I've built my whole life around! Without even realizing it, I’ve dedicated my damn life to someone, and I hate how happy that makes me.” 

“Wow. Never figured you for the wallowing type.” 

Dorian made an offended noise. “Wallow‒ I just opened up my heart to you, and you’re making fun of me?”

“Of course I’m making fun of you, you’re dragging yourself across broken glass for no reason!” Hakim laughed. He ran a hand through his short hair, looking Dorian straight in the eye. “Listen, kiddo‒”

“I’m nowhere near a kid, dude.”

“‒Shut up, I’m trying to be a good brother. Change is literally  _ the most  _ unavoidable part of life. Especially when you’re involved with someone else. I’m not saying you should totally reinvent yourself for another person, or give up all you love, but… there are things you will  _ want  _ to change, if you care about someone enough. Because it makes you happier and it makes them happier.” He shrugged and weaseled a cigarette out of his jacket pocket, flicking open his lighter. “That’s what a relationship is, isn’t it? A compromise. Learning to live with the other’s stupid little flaws and annoyances, and learning to be better through it.” He blew a jet of grey smoke into the air. “All I’m saying is that desperately trying to hold onto your ‘spontaneity’ and ‘impulsiveness’ when all you want to do is be with the person you love? That’s just gonna drive them further away. You can’t have your cake and eat it too. Choose which one is more important to you.”

A chilly wind blew off the ocean, cutting through the warm air of the summer night. It ruffled Hakim and Dorian’s dark hair. Somewhere in the dark thatches of oak forest an owl called, low and mournful. It was by all standards a beautiful night. A perfect time for important decisions. 

Dorian brought his knees up to his chest and pressed his forehead to them for a few minutes. Before him sat a chasm, his old life on one side, his new one on another. Did he have the strength to bridge that gap?

As soon as Hakim saw his brother’s glittering eyes peeping over his knees he knew he had come to a decision. Dorian jumped to his feet and dusted off his palms. “Well, time waits for no man, hmm? I’ve got a lot of things to do if I want to get to Egypt as fast as possible.” There was a certain warmth in his expression that made his brother genuinely happy. In all his time that Hakim knew Dorian, he had never seen him willing to set aside his adventures for anyone, not even the family. He must really be in love.

Hakim shot him an ‘I told you so’ smirk. “Bingo. You can take my car to the airport.” 

Dorian kicked open the skylight and paused right in front of it, yellow light filtering upwards and illuminating his smiling face. “Nooooot quite yet, Haki-ki.” 

“God, don’t call me that. And why not?” 

“I wanna give Sydney some space. I hurt her, and she deserves a little time on her own. Even…” he dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands, “if it does admittedly make me painfully nervous every waking moment of the day. But I trust Herms and Sof to protect her. Besides; Deveraux showed me the rest of his notes a while ago. Bernard’s journal said he was working remotely with an ‘interested party’ to further his scientific developments: an interested party who happens to work at the Saint Francis Hospital back in San Francisco.”

“If I didn’t know better I’d say it sounds like you’re proposing a road trip slash abduction.” Hakim commented. 

“Well, our family  _ does  _ have a history of being pretty good at both of those things.” Dorian replied. 

With a grunt, Hakim hauled himself to his feet, shaking away stray leaves that had blown onto the rooftop and clung to his perfectly pressed pants. “Fine. If you think we can actually get some information on that poison out of the contact, we’ll head out tomorrow morning.” He paused and arched an eyebrow. “Though I do have one more pressing question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Where  _ have  _ you been going at night?” 

“...No. If I tell you, you’re gonna make fun of me for being a sap.”

“I guarantee that Sydney, and all the rest of us, are going to be making up far worse scenarios than what you’ve actually been doing if you don’t tell me.” 

Dorian made a weak noise, running a hand down his face. “Fine, fine.” He sucked in a breath. “I’ve been… sitting with Timur. His grave, up on the hill. Sometimes I just feel so goddamn lost, and I  _ know  _ he would know what to do right now. But I don’t want Sydney to know that. She already knows I’m an irresponsible douche; I don’t want her thinking I’m a crybaby too.”

“Wow.” Hakim deadpanned. “That’s it?”

Dorian looked defensive. “What, what did  _ you  _ think I was doing?”

“Honestly? I thought you were sneaking off to Santa Cruz to go to a strip club.”

Dorian socked him in the shoulder before hopping back down through the skylight, audibly grumbling under his breath. Hakim only shrugged. “I deserved that.”


	28. Book 2: Ch. 4

_ As soon as I get home, I’m never taking a plane ride again as long as I live. It’s all buses, boats, and car drives for me _ , Sydney decided. The flight was twenty two hours long, not including a brief stopover.  _ Twenty two hours _ . No activity in the world had any right being that long. And while it was entertaining to watch Hermela get handed complimentary meals and get forced to find more and more creative ways to make it look like she ate them like a normal human being, it was not a display worth losing feeling in both her legs for several hours.

Sofia carried both their luggage out onto the pickup and dropoff zone, standing amidst the crowd of bustling tourists and natives alike as she took in the hot summer sun with a pleasant expression.

Sydney was pretty sure her friend was the only one enjoying it. It was June and the low and endless plains of Luxor city surrounding the airport were fuzzy and wavy with heat. She could feel it washing over her in waves, making her skin prickle with sweat. Surrounded on all sides by people and slowly being cooked alive by the boiling sun, she felt very much like one of those hot dogs on a gas station roller. With a grin she turned to her left, knowing full well that Dorian would find that observation hilarious. But she came face-to-face with a stranger instead, holding luggage and wiping sweat off his brow. Not Dorian. No, Dorian was at home because he was relentlessly pushing her away and she needed to lay down some boundaries and let him know she wasn’t alright with being manipulated like that. 

Her knowing that didn’t change the fact that she missed him. Sometimes she felt like he was the salt shaker to her pepper, as cheesy as that was; they were different and weird and a little dysfunctional on their own, but together they found the support and comfort they’d always lacked. Now she was just pepper. All sharp edges and bitter aftertaste. 

“My Arabic’s a little rusty,” Sofia said over the chatter of people and rumble of moving cars, “But judging by the signs I think there’s a car rental place on the other side of the airport complex.”

Hermela made a neutral noise, staring out over the crowd through her big tinted sunglasses. She seemed a little distracted. 

With a sigh, Sydney pulled her hair up into a ponytail. The airport was  _ huge _ , all concrete walkways, tall pillars, and different buildings. “Well if that’s the case,” She said, struggling to sound positive, “I’m glad I slept on the plane. Let’s get to hiking.”

“That’s the spirit!” Sofia beamed.

They both made to move away from the blindingly hot pickup zone when Hermela caught each of their arms in a firm grip. She was still looking up over the crowd, but now her expression was hard. Tense. “Those two have been watching us the whole time we’ve been out here.” She said evenly. 

Sydney slowly turned her head, standing on tip-toe to get above the crowd. Far down the pickup like were two incredibly beautiful and unmistakably vampiric people dressed in casual black and grey travel attire. One of them, a woman, leaned casually up against a support beam, while the other man stood slouched next to her with his hands in his pockets. They were both unmistakably staring at the three of them like hawks: it was without a doubt that they were Assembly lackeys.  _ Looks like the Red Assembly has decided the dangers of us remaining alive outweigh the dangers of one stupid video.  _ The jig was up.

Icy fear washed down Sydney’s spine, all of her initial and animalistic panic washing over her in waves. But with it came a new feeling, one she wasn’t used to having coupled with fear: genuinely anger. “Can’t I just have  _ one thing  _ go my way, for once?” She said bitterly. 

The vampires began to walk towards them. 

“All in favor of a hasty retreat?” Hermela said dryly. They all backed up quickly, hurrying down the concrete of the waiting zone in the opposite direction of their pursuers. Sydney hazarded a glance over her shoulder. They were  _ ambling _ . Following them with an air of unhurried casualty, calmly weaving through the crowd. Why weren’t they running _ ,  _ or chasing? 

A few seconds later she knew why. 

The pickup zone petered off into a curve in the road that broadened as it hit an interstate. Four lanes of fast-moving traffic and nowhere to go but back inside the winding and confusing labyrinth that was the foreign airport. Realization struck her. They  _ wanted  _ that. In there they could separate them in the crowds and trap all three of them like rats. There are a lot more places to corner someone inside a building than on a flat piece of land under the bright sun. 

Just when Sydney was seriously contemplating flinging her luggage at the approaching vampires, discus-style, a sleek silver convertible screeched to a halt on the road right in front of them. The pilot of the vehicle, a woman in a pastel pink hijab, popped the gum bubble she was blowing and grinned, looking at them over her sunglasses. “Someone called for a taxi?” She asked. 

Sofia looked mind blown. “Wh‒  _ Karyme _ ?! What are you‒”

“No time.” Hermela butted in brusquely, opening the car doors and shoving her sister and her human friend in with total lack of care. “Step on it, Karyme.”

“Roger roger.” The woman said breezily. Before Sydney was even fully seated they were off at a blinding speed, the tires squealing over the pavement and eliciting many surprised and angry honks from the cars she had just cut off. Sydney turned around as fast as she could, watching the airport get smaller and smaller, and the vampires with it. She held up a middle finger and hoped that Dorian’s bragging about enhanced vampiric senses and sight was actually true.  _ Suck it, lackeys. _

“Still rebelling against the system, eh Herms?” Karyme said over the loud wind of the interstate. “You and your family have kicked up quite a fuss over the past year. Let me tell you, it has been a  _ trip  _ following  that story.”

Sydney was grasping at straws as she tried to process all that had just happened in the last sixty seconds. “Who‒ what are‒ can you  _ please  _ explain to me who the hell you are?” She demanded.

Karyme gave a musical laugh and shot her a look over the back of the driver’s seat. Sydney froze in realization: of course. Another vampire. Because why wouldn’t it be? Clearly she wasn’t allowed to have even a single moment of peace. “Didn’t know you brought an on-board snack, babe.” Karyme giggled. 

“ _ Don’t _ call me babe.” Hermela growled, her voice like shards of glass. “You lost that privilege when you sold my location out to my mother for money. And Sydney’s not food. She’s family, okay? Pretend you have a heart and treat her like an actual person.”

The vampiric stranger gave another laugh and switched lanes. “And here I distinctly remember you ridiculing your brother’s extremism when it came to humans. How long ago was that, Herms? Twenty, thirty years? Oh how the time flies.”

At a complete loss for context Sydney turned to Sofia, desperate for answers. Her friend was pressed as far back into the seat as possible, like she was trying to make herself disappear. ‘ _ They used to date _ ’, she mouthed covertly. 

After a few seconds of uncomfortable wordlessness and hot wind whipping all around them, Sydney hazarded a question. “Karyme‒ can I call you Karyme?‒ you said something about the Ashdowns ‘kicking up a fuss’ in the past year. How did you know about that? I thought nobody but the Red Assembly knew.”

Karyme muttered something about  _ playing with your food _ under her breath before adjusting the rear-view mirror to see Sydney’s face. “Literally anybody who’s anybody knows. When you’re in a community of less than seven thousand people, any news is big news. And kid, you’re all the biggest scandal in centuries! It was unavoidable, really. Everybody is waiting with bated breath to see how the council members are going to snuff you out.” She popped another piece of fruity gum into her mouth. “I’m puttin’ myself on the line by helping you all, you know. But Herms is right. I did something really terrible to her a few decades ago: but I’m making up for it now! When I got a call from her, how could I refuse it? Assembly meeting be damned, this takes priority.”

“Wait a second.” Sofia said loudly, sitting up. “Was  _ that  _ who you were calling by the luggage carousel? You called your  _ ex  _ as soon as we landed? That was your first instinct?” 

Hermela hung her arm over the front passenger door and refused to respond. In her own special, overwhelmingly Hermela-y way, that was saying ‘yes’. 

The hot wind whipped a bug straight into Sydney’s face and she spluttered in dismay.  _ A half-hour into touching down in Egypt and I’m already ready to leave.  _ She thought sourly. She fumbled through her emergency travel bag as best she could in the narrow confines of the back seat, hoping against all hope that she put some sunblock in it. If she sat out in the open sunlight like this for more than five minutes she would go red as a tomato: just another perk of coming from a long line of gingers. 

A sharp whistle interrupted her grouchy thoughts. Karyme jerked the rear-view mirror back into place: in the center of it, weaving in and out of arid dust and sparse traffic, were two motorcycles that were making a beeline for their car. 

“Oh, come  _ on _ !” Sydney groaned with breathless exasperation. 

“Now remember kids, don’t try this at home!” Karyme called out loudly to no one. With far too much delight to be normal for this situation she slammed her foot down on the gas pedal, nearly choking Sydney with her seatbelt as they shifted from a smooth 50 miles per hour to 98. She swerved back and forth between vehicles amidst a chorus of violent honks, trying to put some distance between the car and the Assembly bikers. 

Sydney thought it was working until she heard what sounded like the world’s largest piece of hail hitting the back of the car, feet away from her. She turned to look in alarm. A bullet was lodged in the chrome metal a few feet from her shoulder. She bit back an alarmed shout, her eyes bulging in fear. 

“Down!” Sofia shouted, undoing her seatbelt and shoving at Sydney’s shoulders. She hunkered over as far as she could, heart thudding so wildly she was shivering. But the back of the car was narrow and shallow: there was no place to hide. Vampires, she could handle: god knows she’d had her fair share after her. But live weaponry? There was no outrunning a bullet.

“Guns?  _ Seriously? _ ” Hermela yelled into the wind, expression contorted in anger. Why would vampires even bother bringing guns to fight other vampires? They’d just heal from the wounds in seconds. She froze in her seat.  _ Unless they’re not here for a vampire.  _ The answer hit her like a truck: they couldn’t apprehend them at the airport, so now they were onto plan B. Murdering the fussy human who threatened their organization in broad daylight. 

More bullets pinged off the curved back of the car, and Sydney screamed, head still tucked low. The man riding the closest bike jetted forward, racing up to the left side of the car, engine roaring. Without hesitation Karyme jerked her steering wheel sharply to the left, ramming into the bike. The biker scrambled for balance, desperately trying to maintain control of his vehicle for a few heart-stopping seconds before it flipped out from under him. He and his bike were immediately crushed under the massive front of an eighteen-wheeler adjacent to them, who put on its breaks and began to screech sideways with a horn so loud it rattled Karyme’s teeth. Traffic immediately began to pile up behind it, clearing up the highway. 

The second bike rider fired again and again out of anger at the convertible until she was completely out of bullets, gaining speed and closing the gap as quickly as she could. The right side of the highway had been slowly falling away for miles, and by now it was a rocky canyon hundreds of feet deep. The only thing that separated them from a sandy, wind-swept death drop was a low metal guardrail. 

“Karyme!” Hermela called out warningly, watching helplessly as the second bike drew closer and closer. She was hunting through every drawer and pocket for a weapon, but all this car had in it were half-used lipsticks and napkin packets.

“Yeah, working on it!” The vampire shouted back angrily. She was putting the pedal to the metal as much as she could without losing control of the car; but they had to face facts. The bike was faster, and it was catching up. 

Out of desperation Karyme wove back and forth across the mostly empty lanes, trying in vain to lose the viciously determined vampire amidst the clouds of gritty dust and exhaust fumes. She followed them like a magnet. A snarl contorted her lips; she was anger and hatred incarnate. Eventually she was neck and neck with the car, speeding along their right between them and the metal barrier and making wild grabs at Sydney even as she dodged Sofia and Hermela’s blows. She got so close to the human that she came away with a fistful of red strands of hair she had ripped from her head. 

That was the last straw for Hermela. With an angry cry she reached across Karyme and wrenched the wheel to the right. The car jerked to the side, pinning the bike between it and the metal railing. The bike shuddered, sparks flying off of it in arcs from the friction. The vampire aboard it screamed in outrage as the jagged pressure of twisted metal ripped away at her legs, goring them into a red paste. 

“You’ll send us over, idiot!” Karyme yelled, trying to get control of her own wheel.

Just as the biker was reaching out again in one final desperate attempt to take Sydney with her, the bike went down. Both the vampire and the vehicle abruptly disappeared below the edge of the car in a cacophony of screaming machinery and burning rubber. All three vampires turned around to see the smoking wreck spin and flip itself over the edge of the rail, falling into the rocky canyon below it.

The car continued to speed down the straightaway. No other bikes magically materialized to chase them. They were safe. 

“Get up. Come on, it’s okay.” Sofia said shakily, gently rubbing at Sydney’s shoulders. She slowly popped up from her hidey-hole like a stressed meerkat, all wide eyes and flyaway hair fluttering in the wind. For a brief moment she saw how fast the world was flying by their car and faintly thought about how they would probably get a speeding ticket if they continued on like this. But she supposed that was the least of their worries right now.

“They brought  _ guns _ .” She said faintly. “I could have died.” 

“That was too close.” Karyme remarked bitterly. “Too damn close. How the hell did they know exactly where you were, anyway? Are you all  _ that bad  _ at sneaking off, or did you just announce your location over megaphone? My god. This is  _ not  _ what I signed up for.” She sounded pissed off, her suave and giggly exterior gone now. The chase had really rattled her. 

Sydney settled in her seat and rested her head against the far back of the car, closing her eyes and trying to let the constant rush of air over her face calm her wild heart. She heard Sofia lean forward, away from her, having a low and murmured conversation with Hermela about something she really didn’t want to bother herself about right now. In those blind moments of panic hunkered down in the car, feeling the tangible impact of bullets piercing metal only a few feet away from her, she was sure she was going to die. As soon as she was somewhere with a wifi network she was going to call Dorian; she didn’t want to wind up dead before she had a chance to tell him that despite whatever was going on between them right now, she cared about him.

Then there was a hand on her neck that was wet and raw, and face sliding into the edge of her peripheral vision. Bloody. All ground up on one side like burger meat and utterly silent, climbing up over the back of the car like a spider.

_ We only saw the  _ _ motorcycle  _ _ go over the rail.  _ Sydney remembered too late. _ Not the driver. _

With a snarl the road-rashed vampire woman attached herself to her neck, and Sydney screamed as loudly as she could, trying to pull herself away in vain from the deep piercing teeth. The world felt like it was moving in slow motion, a creeping, molasses-like terror building inside her as she came to register the true horror of the situation.

Sofia whipped around and like lightning was on the vampire, tearing the women apart from each other and throwing her off the moving car with all her supernatural strength. She sailed over the side and into the rocky chasm far below, Sydney’s blood spraying through the air in an arc behind her. 

Sydney held the side of her neck numbly, feeling the massive wound pulse forward wave after wave of blood. It felt like her brain had shut off. She was vaguely aware of Sofia and Hermela shouting in alarm, yelling back and forth at one another. Sofia was clamping both hands around her neck to stifle the bleeding. Hermela was mouthing  _ you’ll be okay, I promise  _ as all the sound in the world started to fade away. Sydney didn’t believe her. She looked too afraid to be telling the truth.

_ I’m bleeding out _ . Sydney realized. Her instinctual fear drained away as her body grew colder and her mind grew more distant. She fluttered her eyes around hazily, meeting the gaze of a stunned-looking Karyme who was watching her from the driver’s seat.  _ Surprised that I’m dying?  _ Sydney thought. Even in her confused and fading state she felt a lump in her throat: grief. A certainty that this was the end.  _ I’m human. It’s kind of what we do. _

Black started to creep into the edges of her vision, and she thought about a whole lot of things at once. The spicy soup her grandmother used to make her. The dirty swingset on her childhood school playground. The smiling face of her sister, older now, holding a child. The lights of San Francisco, and the overhead fluorescents of the college classrooms she spent so many years in.  _ I don’t want it all to be over just yet _ . She realized with a heavy wave of sadness.

And finally she thought of Dorian. Him, relaxed, sitting in a dirty pizzeria and smiling at her like she was both the sun and the moon all at once. As unconsciousness took her into its black and lightless arms she realized that what she really wanted most was to tell him she loved him one last time.

_ But then again, we all don’t get happy endings _ . 


	29. Book 2: Ch. 5

Hakim and Dorian casually dodged and weaved their way across the crowded hospital parking lot: Hakim whistling a jaunty tune, and Dorian glaring at his phone like it had personally insulted him. He was looking at the three unopened voicemails and two unanswered texts he had sent to Sydney, all of them meticulously crafted (and heavily stressed over) to not come off as clingy or possessive. He had to give her her space, even if every instinct of his screamed for him to hijack a plane and tackle her like an excited Labrador. Hakim had told him she was probably still in transit with Herms and Sof, and to put a little more faith in them. 

He  _ did  _ trust them. He just didn’t trust himself to not worry every moment they were apart. Now that Hakim helped him finally decide what he actually wanted out of life, his anxiety over hurting Sydney’s feelings had increased tenfold. He was scared that every moment she was away was another moment she could realize she didn’t actually want to be around someone as idiotic and short-sighted as him. 

Hakim elbowed him in the ribs as the doors to the multistory hospital slid open, welcoming them inside. Dorian straightened his shoulders and put his phone away: his brother was right. He had to focus. They were here for a very specific reason: to find the contact listed in Bernard’s journal. The man who helped him discover the true potency of the mysterious poison that took the life of someone very important to them. And they  _ would _ find out what this man knew, through words or through blood.

Their shoes clicked across the polished linoleum flooring as they made their way to the front desk. A harried looking woman sat behind it with a pen tucked behind her ear, flipping through an analog binder filled with medical documents. She paused as she was approached, her mouth agape at the unnerving and paralyzing sight that was two vampires in one room. 

Hakim and Dorian exchanged a single long look. Like someone flipped a switch, suddenly they were both oozing charisma and beauty. Hakim leaned against the front desk, fixing the woman with a blinding smile.

“Hello, ma’am.” He said smoothly. 

Dorian had to struggle to keep his eyes from rolling: he was using his hunter’s drawl. In the late 1960s he and Dorian used to trawl the bars of North Beach together, drawing out unsuspecting victims with their honeyed words and flirtations. Hearing that voice again made Dorian’s skin crawl. He couldn’t stand it now, thinking about all the people he had to hurt out of his misguided need for his family’s approval. 

“...Hello.” The woman said curtly, still not completely falling for their charade like many before her had. “And what can I help you two gentlemen with today?” 

“We’re actually looking for someone.” Dorian chimed into the conversation, resting his elbows on the counter and cocking his head disarmingly. “My step-brother. We were hoping you might know where he is so we can go surprise him?” 

The woman contemplatively bit her lower lip. She was stronger than most when being faced down with two vampire’s hunting charms.. “I suppose… no, I’m sorry. I really, really wish I could, but it’s against protocol to give out personal information about our medical workers.”

“Please? It would mean so much to him. We haven’t had a chance to catch up in years!” Hakim pouted, lying through his teeth. “We just came from the Oakland airport and drove through an hour of commuter traffic for this.” 

They both held their breath as the woman ruminated on this, a light flush on her cheeks.

“...What did you say his name was?” She finally asked.

Hakim grinned. “Jameson Higgs.”

“Good ol’ Jamesie.” Dorian added.

The woman typed something into her computer. “Oh. There he is. Head morgue tech, right? Looks like he works down on the lower level. You’re in luck.” She shot them a wry grin. “He just signed in a few minutes ago. Come with me, I have keys.”

She guided them through a rabbit’s warren of walkways in the hospital; past patient rooms, down cold staircases, through gates marked ‘STAFF ONLY’ in bright letters. The whole while she covertly flirted with Hakim, who put on a brave face in return, nodding and smiling and laughing. He turned around twice to give Dorian an wide-eyed, ‘help me’ stare. Dorian did not help him. 

“Here we are.” The woman said, sliding her keycard through a slot. The double doors in front of them that were tactfully marked ‘Mortuary’ opened automatically with a whir of electricity. “Jameson should be inside working. Do you want me to come with you, show you around?” She moved to head into the hallway behind the doors. 

Hakim hid his motion to stop her by putting a hand on her shoulder. “Miss,” He said warmly, “I really do appreciate you helping us find our brother. But we want to surprise him ourselves; it’s a personal visit after all. I’m sure you understand.”

The woman opened her mouth to argue but Hakim and Dorian were already slinking through the closing doors and ghosting down the chrome hallways of the hospital underbelly. Hakim dropped his charming smile as soon as they were both out of sight, massaging his cheeks with a scowl. The morgue was silent for the most part, save for a distant  _ tap, tap, tap  _ of someone hitting their pencil against a desk. They followed the sound through the body examination and storage area until they came upon a sort of pseudo-office tucked into a far corner, made of two desks and a chunky computer straight from the early 2000s. 

The man sitting hunched behind it poked his head over the monitor and squinted at them. “...Who let you in here?” 

“Are you Jameson Higgs?” Hakim asked. 

“Oh god.” Jameson’s eyes widened in fear and recognition. “You two‒ you’re‒ oh shit, you’re vampires.” He scrambled backwards in a flurry of limbs, trying to get out of his chair and put some distance between them all. 

Dorian sighed and scratched at his chin. “Man. Does  _ everybody  _ know about us nowadays?” He and Hakim blocked Jameson’s half-hearted attempts to flee the scene, cornering him in his own office. “Hi there.” Dorian said. For once there was no kindness in his eyes. “We have some questions to ask you about your work associate Bernard and the project you two were both so invested in.” 

“You’re here for the Achilles compound?” Jameson said breathlessly. “Dammit. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that guy, but my curiosity got the better of me! Who wouldn’t be fascinated about advanced decay rates on vampiric flesh?” He swallowed, flashing a nervous smile at the two distinctly unamused brothers. “I don’t have any. Bernard only ever sent me numbers. Mathematical values. That’s all, I swear! Just ask him, he’s the one you want!” 

“Bernard’s  _ dead _ .” Dorian hissed. “And you’ll end up the same way if you don’t…” He trailed off, distracted. Pinned up on one of the overhead cabinets was a newspaper clipping from last December labeled ‘ _ Business Major Brings Missing Person Total to 11’ _ . Underneath it, sitting next to a small block of text, was a college ID photo of Sydney Busch. 

“You… do you know her?” Jameson hazarded, sweat beading on his forehead. 

“You could say that.” 

Jameson sensed an opening and clung to it. “She’s my friend. My best friend, actually,” he blustered, “We used to hang out all the time before she disappeared. She’s been missing for months now. The police think she’s dead: they suspect human trafficking. It’s a shame, really, considering what we had between us.”

Hakim raised a single eyebrow. “What you had between you?” He couldn’t imagine the steadfast and strong-willed woman that was Sydney even standing in the same  _ room  _ as this guy, much less being romantically involved with him. 

“Oh yeah.” Jameson nodded rapidly. “We have a really romantic, like, sensual tension building between us. I could tell she wanted me. She had the sweetest voice, and her body, oh man. But you know what women are like, right?” He was desperately searching for a point of empathy, something he thought they could all relate to; he didn’t seem to even notice the storm clouds gathering behind Dorian’s eyes, or the way Hakim took a surreptitious step backwards. “They’re always being such big teases, pretending they’re not intere‒” 

He could not have chosen a worse place to search for empathy. 

Dorian reached across the desk and hauled Jameson up into the air by his collar. “Listen.” He ground out amidst the pained gasps and broken choking noises. “I’m trying to be a better person for my girlfriend, and  _ normally  _ I’m more empathetic and understanding of humans than most. But if you say  _ one more thing  _ about the woman I love I will literally have no problem stringing your guts across your lab like something out of a slasher’s fever dream. Do we understand each other?” 

Jameson nodded violently, looking like he had lots of questions but preferred to keep his blood inside his body instead of trying to ask them. 

“Great.” Dorian dropped the technician and he collapsed onto his desk and tried to catch his breath. “Give us everything you have on the poison.”

“Y-You think I’d write that sort of thing down?” Jameson wheezed. “It’s _way_ too classified. Now, if I had some of the Achilles compound I could _demonstrate_ some of the things I’ve learned, but unfortunately for you that’s not happening because I’ve never even seen the stuff!” He spat his last words out with a sort of frightened vindication. 

“‘Achilles compound’ is a stupid name.” Hakim deadpanned. “Think of that yourself?”

Jameson opened and shut his mouth a few times, wanting to defend himself but also not wanting to incur the wrath of a second extremely strong superhuman. Hakim smirked just an increment before sharing another look with Dorian. 

“Well then today’s your lucky day.” Dorian said. “We happen to have some of that stuff at home. So  _ you’re  _ coming with  _ us. _ ” 

“Wh‒ I‒ hey!” 

Under the glaring white lights of the hospital hallways, the two Ashdowns frog-marched Jameson back up through the warren of twists and turns they originally came through. The woman from the frost desk waved at them warmly as they passed, but her smile faded and her hand flagged when she was the stiff, wide-eyed look Jameson had plastered across his face. 

Out in the parking lot, Dorian waited under the heat of the California sun with a firm grip on the technician's shoulder while Hakim patted down his pockets for his keys. He fished them out of his back pocket and unlocked his jeep.

“So,” Jameson hazarded in a weak voice, “This… thing you got going on with Sydney. Is it an  _ open  _ relationship or‒” 

Dorian shoved him head-first into the back seat with much more force than needed, slamming the door after him so hard that the car rocked. Hakim stifled a laugh. “Shut up,” Dorian grumbled as he clambered into the front passenger seat, “And step on it. I have an airport to get to.” 


	30. Book 2: Ch. 6

Sydney’s mother would always watch soap operas. As she was growing up they were constantly on in the background, the voices of distressed men and women accompanied by dramatic swells of the violin. Their drama was practically universal: soap operas, reality tv, telenovelas, whatever you wanted to call them. You only needed to listen to them for only a few seconds before you’d know what it was. 

Which is exactly why Sydney knew there was a soap opera playing somewhere nearby, even if it was in Arabic.  _ I’ve never heard of cable tv in any religious teachings,  _ she thought to herself _ , so chances are I’m not dead and in the afterlife.  _ She felt like it though. Her whole body was achy and stiff, her mouth felt like a desert, and her neck was hot and sore. She struggled to get her eyes open with a groan. 

“Hey, hey!” Sofia’s face loomed above her, eyes watery and a weak smile on her face. “You’re awake!  _ Dios mío,  _ Sydney, you scared us half to death! How do you feel?” She hovered over her, radiating nervousness and protectiveness. 

Sydney took a moment to think, struggling to push herself a little bit more upright on the couch she found herself laying on. Her neck pulsed with pain that echoed her heartbeat: she clasped at it with a wince only to realize it was carefully wrapped with gauze. Stitched pulled her skin tight underneath it. “I  _ really  _ gotta break this bad habit of waking up in strange locations.” She joked. Her comedy fell flat: Sofia was staring at her like she might cry. “Sof, sweetheart, I’m okay. Really, I’ll be fine. I’m‒ I’m not dead.”

With those final words Sofia leapt forward and crushed her into a hug. Sydney didn’t know just how much she needed one until she pulled her closer with gusto, resting her dizzy head against the vampire’s shoulder. She smelled like home. Like comfort.

“We really thought you were going to die.” Sofia said hoarsely into Sydney’s hair. “We were so scared, do you know that? You… you went into hypovolemic shock. We were lucky Herms is really fast with an IV needle.”

The thought stunned Sydney. She was  _ much  _ closer to biting it than she realized. “Wow. Remind me to thank her next time I see her. Where is she, by the way?” She looked around the room, getting a better grip on her surroundings. It looked like they were in someone’s cozy living room. A plush brown couch wrapped around the borders of it, a coffee table sitting smack in the center with a tv mounted up on the wall opposite it.  _ So that’s where the soap opera is coming from _ , Sydney realized as she watched two figures on the screen yell at each other. The floor of the room was made of dark stained wood and was covered in a carpet that swirled and twisted with patterns of muted color. The smell of spiced and unfamiliar food hung in the air. “...Come to think of it,” Sydney added with a frown, “where the hell _ am _ I?”

“Well, you know how the world seems to just be dealing us hand after hand of terrible cards and we can’t seem to catch a break?” Sofia said. 

Sydney braced herself. “Oh no.”

Sofia beamed. “Well, we finally broke our unlucky streak! The man from Bernard’s notes, Masoud Naser? Turns out that Karyme  _ knows him _ . Apparently she saved him from a pretty severe mugging a few years back, and now they’ve got some sort of business arrangement going on. Anyways, you’ll never guess who’s house you’re in.”

Sydney let out a  _ whoosh  _ of relieved breath. “I’m gonna hazard a guess and say Masoud Naser’s.” 

“Yup!” Sofia checked her phone. “They both went out for groceries a while ago; they should be back any minute now. And Hermela will come back inside as soon as she’s done catching up with Nakita.” She sighed dreamily. “Ah, young love. So tender that it makes the sister I once saw punch through a cinder block wall look like a kitten.” With a huff she stood up, patting Sydney’s hands. “You sit tight. I’m going to bring you some water and whatever food I can find in the fridge. Please,  _ please _ , don’t stand up. I think I would cry if you fainted.” 

With an affirming nod Sydney watched her leave, but furrowed her brow in contemplation. There was something she was forgetting to do. Something just out of reach. What was…  _ Dorian!  _ She remembered in a flash. Sydney fumbled with her front pocket, withdrawing her phone and pausing to look in utter alarm at the date it displayed on the low-res LED screen. According to her adjusted time zone, it was 6:04 AM...two days after she had landed.  _ I’ve been out for a day and a half _ , she realized. And right below that time reading? Three missed calls, three voicemails, and two unopened texts. Sydney sucked on her teeth. She hadn't answered his calls for more than twenty-four hours. He must be worried sick. Or pissed. There was a good 50/50 chance it was either. But still, she wanted to call him back. Even if the conversation descended into another argument, it would be better than not hearing from him at all. 

Sydney sent him a text. Then another. Then a third. All three of them popped up in her notifications as ‘unsent’: she could have throttled the shaky extended network she was on right now if not for how shaky she was herself. Her finger was right over the ‘call’ button when her phone beeped, lost the last two percent of its battery, and died in her hand. Sydney reached for a pillow and pressed it over her face, groaning loudly in frustration into it. She didn’t even know where her charger was. Still in her luggage, maybe? But where was  _ that _ ? What town was she in? Why was the universe such a cruel and unforgiving place? Why couldn’t she have a  _ moment  _ of peace?

“Wow. Still feeling  _ that  _ terrible?” A voice said, bemused. Sydney pulled the pillow away to see Hermela leaning against the nearby narrow doorway, a smile on her face. 

“Hermela!” Sydney said, reaching her arms out before letting them falter and drop. If the slightly over-tight stitches in her neck were any indication, the older Ashdown had pulled her out of the fire once again; not including the medical attention that brought her back from the brink. But she wasn’t really a… huggy person. 

“Ugh. Fine. But don’t tell Nakita.” Hermela grumbled, stiffly leaning over her and embracing her. She smelled like sunlight and fresh air, and Sydney held tightly to the uncommon gesture of affection. It was stunning to see how much progress she had made: it was less than a year ago that the vampire was trying to take her eye out with a stiletto. Not many people could change so drastically, especially their core beliefs. 

Sofia set down a tray of food and water on the coffee table, making a noise of delight at the display. “This is adorable!” She squealed. 

Her sister shot her a deathly glare. “I’m only gonna say it once, but…” She turned back to Sydney, “I’m glad you’re okay. You’ve been‒ well, you’ve been good for this family, for the most part.”

“Thanks, Herms.” Sydney said. “Hey, can I borrow your phone to‒”

“Hey freeloaders, we’re home!” A female voice called from a distant hallway after a slam of a door. Sydney sat up straighter and pulled her hair up and away from her face, trying in vain to look presentable: a formidable challenge considering she hadn’t showered in two days and was as bloodless as a cadaver. In through the narrow doorway came Karyme and a stout mustached man that Sydney didn’t recognize, both holding grocery bags full of food. 

“Wh‒ hey!” The mustached man said in outrage, shoving his bag into Karyme’s arms and pointing to the plate of food and glass of water on the coffee table. He was short, well dressed, and had a thick arabian accent. His weathered cheeks and sweaty brow marked him as incontrovertibly human. “I never said they could touch my refrigerator!” 

Karyme’s voice drifted out from the kitchen as she busied herself with putting stuff away. “Oh, calm down Masoud. You can hardly eat everything yourself. And what’s some missing food to you? Goodness knows you swindle enough money from people to buy it back ten times over.” 

The man, who Sydney now knew to be  _ the  _ Masoud Naser, made a disgruntled noise but didn’t argue back. He kicked off his shoes by the edge of the carpet, wandered over to the recliner next to the couch, and settled down into it. “I hope that now that the red-haired one is awake, your friends will make a speedy exit!” He called sourly towards the kitchen. “I have work to do down at the shop, and I don’t trust any of you to be here by yourselves. You’ll just steal more of my things, like that other  _ shaytan _ .”

“What do you mean?” Sydney asked, immediately chugging her water. God, she was  _ parched _ . Sofia caught her eye and whisked the glass away to refill it. “Actually, you know what, let’s start from the beginning. I’m Sydney. You’re clearly Masoud, right?” She cleared her throat, trying to look like she knew what she was doing. “We actually flew all the way from North America to meet you. See, we think you have something that we‒”

“You want something  _ more _ ?” Masoud said angrily. “I am already letting you stay in my home! Bleeding all over my couch, ugh‒” he gestured angrily with his hands, “You know if you were not good friends with Karyme I would have turned you over to the authorities, just like I should have done with that other man!”

“What other man?” Sydney pressed. 

“The other man. Tall, british, dressed in a suit. Looked just as cunning as that one over there.” He pointed at Hermela, who responded with a stony glare. “He got hit by a car outside my house and said he didn’t have money for a hospital. He didn’t look  _ that  _ hurt at all. So  _ I _ , being a  _ good  _ _Samaritan_ , let him spend a night resting on my couch. When I woke up he had broken into my shop downstairs and stolen a priceless artifact from me!”

Karyme wandered back from the kitchen and snorted. “Priceless. Please. You don’t even know if it was worth anything.” 

Masoud pointed at her accusingly. “For your information I had a private buyer all lined up who was willing to pay very generously for it!” 

“Of _course_ you did. What happened to sending it off to the Historical Preservation Society for identification?”  
“Did the Historical Preservation Society _sound_ like they were going to hand me a check for six thousand pounds?” He scoffed. “I’m a businessman first and foremost, you know.” 

“Oh yes, selling people fake Egyptian artifacts is  _ so  _ businesslike. You’re a pawn shop con artist.” 

“You take that back, young lady!”

Sydney was shoveling rice into her mouth the entire time they were arguing, thinking pensively. A man just as cunning as Hermela, with a British accent? That had Bernard written all over it.  _ So he didn’t buy the poison off Masoud: he stole it.  _ “This thing you had stolen,” She interrupted Masoud's and Karyme’s snappy back-and-forth, “It wouldn’t have happened to be a sealed clay vessel, would it?” 

Masoud shut his mouth with a clack, and Karyme raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Now how would you know that?” she asked intently. 

Sydney shrugged nonchalantly, sitting up straighter on the couch. She was much less dizzy and out of it now that she had some actual food and water in her system. “The man who stole it from you tried to put a bullet in my skull. But that’s not the point.” She paused to see Karyme side-eyeing here, looking almost approving. Maybe multiple close shaves with death was what it took to get her respect?  _ Whatever. I’m not here to impress her _ . “Masoud… I need another one of those vessels. Or several. However many you have, really.”

The man was immediately overtaken with almost speechless outrage, gesturing back and forth between Sydney and Karyme with an indignant finger. “You want... NO! There’s no way I’m... and ESPECIALLY after all the trouble you and that man have already put me through! The  _ hubris  _ to ask such a question–”

Hermela gripped the back of the couch Sydney was resting on, looking like a tiger ready to pounce. “I don’t expect you to get it, old man,” she spat, her old fire returning to her, “but  _ lives  _ hang in the balance here. My life. Her life. So you tell us where you got that dusty old container, or I will open you up like a piñata all over your living room.” 

Masoud was clearly a man who was used to being intimidated by angry individuals. He simply crossed his arms and sank deeper into his chair, eyebrows drawn sharply down. “I have been pushed by many people in this business, young lady.” He said gruffly. “Store robbers, corrupt officials. I have bent to none of their demands, and I am still here. What makes you think  _ you  _ are so special, so put apart from the rest of them?” 

Sydney pinched the bridge of her nose and stifled a sigh.  _ That  _ would get Hermela’s back up for sure. She tensed, waiting for the woman hovering above her quite literally bare her teeth. What Sydney didn’t expect was for Hermela to slowly exhale, calming herself down. 

“Please.” She said a moment later. “We really need to know where that came from. It is more important than you could ever imagine.” 

Across the room, Karyme’s eyes went wide and she paused mid-reapplication of her lipstick. She had known Hermela for years and years: in all that time she had never heard her say please, not even once. She came to the sudden realization that this was not one of the Ashdown children’s petty endeavors: this was  _ real _ . 

“Masoud.” Karyme interjected before he could open his mouth again. The pawn shop  owner turned to her, looking sour. “C’mon. Please. For me?” 

Mr. Nasir seemed to wrestle with Karyme’s words for a few seconds, looking equal parts angry and contemplative. “If I have to give the site up, we’re done. No more favors between us. Consider our business finished, alright?” 

Karyme nodded gravely. 

Sydney latched onto one of his words. “Site. Like what, like a place?  _ You  _ found the vessel somewhere?” 

“That’s my  _ job _ , girl.” Masoud replied angrily. “I deal in old pieces of junk that bored millionaires buy because they have nothing better to do.” He rolled his shoulders, side-eyeing Hermela before continuing. “I always have work associates scouting for historical artifacts, all over Egypt. They found something a few months ago, in the Gilf Kebir desert; it was hard to access, and is miles away from any road, but it’s a real gold mine of items. Worth thousands of dollars, if I could pawn it off instead of giving it up to Americans.” He punctuated his last sentence with a glare in Karyme’s direction. 

“That’s where you got the vessel.” Sydney concluded. “I’m guessing if the dig site is worth thousands of dollars, there’s still more of them in there.” 

“I only took one out as a test trial, to see how well it would have sold on the market.” Masoud answered begrudgingly. “Yes, there are more down there. More than just those old moldy jugs, too.” He paused. “And if you want to know exactly where the dig site is, you’ll have to pay. Five hundred thousand pounds, up front.” 

Sydney’s stomach dropped at the daunting price. The Ashdowns had been burning through cash lately. Did they even have that much to drop on a bribe?

“Or I could just call your daughter and ask her where it is.” Karyme said simply. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and wiggled it between two pink-nailed fingers.

Masound blanched and made to jump up from his chair. Before Sydney could even react Sofia was next to him, gently pushing him back down into it like a cattle herder correcting the path of a wandering calf. Masoud tried to rise from the chair two more times, only to be shoved straight back down into a sitting position as Karyme dialed a number on her phone. He resorted to swearing loudly and heavily in a language Sydney was suddenly grateful she didn’t understand. 

“Darling, how are you?” Karyme said sweetly to someone on her phone, casually walking away from Masoud so his loud swearing wouldn’t carry over. “Listen, I know today is usually your break day from working at your father’s shop. But I’m supposed to extract some artifacts for him from the desert dig site. I don’t suppose you have the coordinates?” There was a brief pause before Karyme snapped in Hermela’s direction, gesturing for a pen and piece of paper that was quickly handed to her. “M-hmm, okay.” She murmured as she scribbled something down. “What? No, no, it’s alright, you don’t have to meet me there. You know me, I’m a strong woman. I won’t have any problem transporting everything. How about you and I meet up for coffee sometime next week, mm? Maybe Wednesday?” 

Masoud’s face was growing redder and redder as he began to swear at the top of his lungs. Sofia peacefully clapped a hand over his mouth, only pulling it away after Karyme had hung up the phone and handed the slip of paper to Hermela. 

“Are you  _ insane _ ?!” Masoud caterwauled, “You have just stolen thousands of dollars of profits from me!” 

“Oh I’m sure you’ll find another skeleton to sell off as an ancient Egyptian official, Masound.” Karyme replied. “You’ll be fine.” She turned to Hermela. “Can you use those numbers?”

“I can figure out the math,” She murmured, staring at the paper, “but once we’re out in the desert there’ll be no data network. We’ll have a really difficult time tracking our exact calculated distance once we’re there.”

“Get out of my house!  _ Get out of my house! _ ” Masoud was practically seething, his stout body trembling with rage. 

Sydney got the feeling that if they weren’t welcome before, they _ really  _ weren’t welcome now. “I think it’s time to go.” She said, rising from the couch. The room went wobbly for a few seconds and she braced herself against the armrest. 

“Are you kidding, Sydney?” Sofia gasped, rushing to her side. “Any sane medical professional would insist that you get bed rest for at  _ least  _ another week! You can’t go anywhere right now!” 

“We don’t have a  _ choice _ , Sofia.” Sydney replied stonily. She took a steadying breath and collected her thoughts. “The people that are out to get us are already in the country. We have a lead on something that could protect me, protect  _ us _ . We have to act on that now.” She shrugged Sofia’s hand off her shoulder. “I have to be fine right now. There’s no other option.” 

“Ladies, I suggest we beat a hasty retreat before my ex-business associate blows a fuse.” Karyme hissed, already holding a door to the far right open and gesturing into it. 

Sydney nodded, stuffing her phone into her pocket and ignoring Sofia’s offer of a shoulder to lean on. The four women hurried through the small house and through the doorway, heading down a small flight of stairs that brought them into the aggressively hot sunlight outside. 

“You didn’t have to break off a business deal for us.” Hermela grumbled at Karyme as they made for her car, which was parked across the street in the shade of a palm. “We would have found another way to get what we needed.” 

“This is bigger than I thought, isn’t it?” Karyme replied quietly. 

“...Yeah. It’s bigger than all of us, now. We’re trying to stop people from being killed.”

“Then losing one little business deal was worth it. Let’s get you to the desert.” She unlocked the driver’s door and made to hop in. Hermela slammed the door closed immediately, gaze stony. 

“You’re not coming with us.”

Karyme blinked. “Of course I am. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we put two Assembly lackeys in the ground  _ and  _ I’m harboring wanted criminals and their pet human.” 

“I don’t  _ trust you _ , Karyme.” Hermela hissed. “Not after you betrayed me to my own parents for money.”

“Even after all I’ve done for you?” She said.

“Nothing. _Nothing_. Can make up for what you did.” As Hermela talked in angry, hushed tones, Sydney did her best to not listen in and slide into the back seat unnoticed. “I‒ I loved y ou, Karyme. Hell, I thought one day we were going to get married. But instead you took Godyth’s bribe and told her exactly where I was and left me to the wolves, like you never gave a shit about me in the first place.”

“You were a runaway from one of the most powerful vampire lines, Hermela! If I didn’t give you away, and one of your other family members had found me harboring you, they would have put my head on a pike. I did what was best for both of us.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” Hermela said coldly. 

The two feet between the two vampiric women might as well have been two hundred miles. The gap was an uncrossable, unrepairable rift of damage and hurt that could never be absolved. 

“Fine.” Karyme said. Her face still looked as perfect and unmoved as always, but something in her tone was different. Sadder. “Clearly I was misreading some signals.”

“Clearly.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause that even Sydney and Sofia could feel from inside the vehicle. 

“Take the car.” Karyme said eventually. 

“What?” Hermela replied, stunned. 

“Take the car. I have a motorbike in self-storage a few miles away. Besides… it looks like you’re going to need it to get out to Gilf Kebir.” She exhaled and put her hands in her pockets, looking away. “Look… for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You and I know we can never fix what happened between us. So just take the car; consider it an apology. But know this.” She leveled her gaze with her old flame. “I’m not your friend anymore, Herms. You and your family have gotten yourselves into some serious shit, and while I know that lives are on the line, I always put myself first. If the Assembly comes knocking and asking if I’ve seen you, I wouldn’t hesitate to rat you all out.” 

“That sounds about right.” Hermela replied. She caught the keys Karyme tossed her without even a sideways glance. “I’d say see you around, but I don’t think we’ll be crossing paths again.” 

With a flick of her finger Karyme dropped her sunglasses down over her eyes and slowly ambled away, onto the bustling sidewalk of the town street and away from the Ashdowns. 

Hermela slid into the driver’s seat and put the air conditioner on full blast for the human in the car. Sydney sighed in relief, resting her sweaty forehead against the backseat vent and letting it dry her sweat. Every inch of her body was stiff, sore, and tired. A headache pounded in the front of her skull, her phone was dead, and at any moment more assembly members could appear out of nowhere and rip out her jugular. But she was alive, so she had to keep pressing forward. For her friends. For the people who had lost their whole village. For her sister. For the love of her life.

“Hey.” Sofia said softly. “Seriously. Are you gonna be alright?” 

Sydney smiled tightly and leaned against her friend’s shoulder. “I’m fine.” 

She had to be. There was nowhere to go but forward. 

* * *

The bathroom was massive and elegant, even for an upper-class Cairo hotel. There were floor to ceiling mirrors and an opulent bathtub that could easily be used as a small pool. But Lysander had no interest in that; it was a frivolous thing, something for pleasure and relaxation. He felt none of those things anymore, not since he lost his family: the only thing he ever held dear to himself. Instead he opted for the shower. Steam billowed over the glass walls of it, covering the room in an almost tropical fog. 

He ran a washcloth over his shoulders, suds dribbling down into the drain amidst the painfully hot water runoff. The cloth wiped away the grime and dust of travel and humanity, leaving him clean and immortal and perfect. Minus the scars. Lysander rubbed his shoulder muscles, feeling the knots and lines of scar tissue on the back of it. A bullet wound. Shrapnel was messy business when you were a human; even messier when you didn’t acquire it in a battlefield, but in the barracks of the British Armed Forces after a heated argument got out of hand. 

_ Dishonorable discharge _ . Lysander thought to himself gruffly.  _ What a steaming pile of bullshit. I wasn’t the one who pulled a gun first.  _ He always knew that his anger issues would get him in trouble one day, even when he was human. But he never expected it to get him kicked out of the army; the one place his violence and aggression was lauded and encouraged. But even then he knew about the things he was called behind his back. Monster. Beast. Animal. Maybe becoming a vampire was the best thing that had happened to him in his entire life. At least then he didn’t have to pretend those names didn’t fit him. 

His second biggest scar was on his thigh. A short, deep slash of puckered flesh. The sharp hoof of an unshod horse had cut into him with one swift kick. That was during his early days of his new line of work, breaking and training the animals for a traveling circus. Thankfully he was scouted and changed by Bernard only weeks later. 

There was a knock at Lysander’s bathroom door, and he paused in the middle of rinsing out his hair. “Who is it?” He asked roughly. 

“It’s Peter, sir.” A timid voice replied. 

Lysander sighed and splashed more water across his face. Peter was relatively new in the Assembly’s coordinated roster, working as Lysander’s appointed pseudo-secretary now that he had officially joined their ranks. “Why are you bothering me, Peter?” 

“Well, erm...” The nervous vampire was clearly working up courage behind the closed door. “The twins that you sent to watch the Luxor airport? You know, the ones Berlin? They’re the only airport watch party that hasn’t reported back in. It’s been two days now and we suspect they have been killed. Your hunch was right. Your family is out somewhere in Egypt.”

The bar of soap Lysander was clenching in his right hand was crushed to white slivers in his tight grip. Pure, unfiltered anger rose up the back of his throat. 

When he did not get a reply, Peter tentatively continued. “And as you remember, Ms. Momoko was rather adamant about eliminating them before the emergency congregation in Cairo. She‒ she has promised great bodily harm to both you and me if they are not‒”

“I  _ get it _ , Peter.” Lysander growled loudly, turning the shower off with such force that the handle bent. He took a deep, unsteady breath. “I’ll handle it. Now get out.” 

The secretary could not leave quickly enough. The door to Lysander’s hotel room clicked close seconds after his barked command. 

“Can’t get a moment’s goddamn peace.” Lysander grumbled to himself. He wrapped a towel around his waist and grabbed a brush from the sink, storming out into the bedroom and combing his hair like he was trying to fight it. He stopped in front of one of the massive windows that overlooked the city. The buildings seemed to go on for eternity, disappearing into the dust and the smog. He faintly registered that he was dripping water all over the expensive carpets, but couldn’t bring himself to care: he wasn’t paying for the room, anyways. The Red Assembly had rented out two gigantic hotels side-by-side one another, a large shared convention auditorium between them. An auditorium that could, conveniently, fit over 6,500 people. Perfect for bringing all of vampire-kind together to disprove rumors and reinforce beliefs after all the whispers of the Ashdown rebellion. 

Lysander stared out at the streets below him, packed with cars. Somewhere out in Egypt’s sandy lands and thrumming cities, his old family was roaming around intent on causing more havoc and mayhem just to support their own selfish desires.  _ When I find them, I am going to rip the skin from their bodies. Except for the human girl. She deserves a slower, more painful death for all the pain she has caused me _ . 

His siblings had derailed the life he so carefully clung to, murdered the only two people to ever see any value in his temper and being. Lysander put his hand on the warm glass of the window, making a silent vow: he would find them. And he would kill them.

* * *

At the same exact moment that Lysander was making a solemn promise to himself, far across the city Dorian stepped out into the bright sunlight from Cairo International Airport. He readjusted his sunglasses, frowning up at the bright blue sky. Call him an idiot, but he wished so badly that the moment his plane grounded in Egypt he’d see Sydney’s freckled face pressed against the airport windows, waiting for him. 

Finally his phone rebooted with a fanciful chime, and he dove into his suitcase to check the call history. Dorian swallowed a noise of panic: four consecutive missed calls from Sydney, one after the other. No texts followed. As quickly as possible he had the phone up to his ear, ringing her. It went straight to voicemail. The noise of panic that was forced back into his lungs ignited as he tried to reach Hermela’s and then Sofia’s cell. None of them answered. 

Logically, Dorian knew that they probably didn’t have amazing cell service here with their American phone plan. But emotionally, he was ready sling the nearest Egypt native who knew the roads over his shoulder and force him to guide them to his girlfriend, as stupid as that was. 

He clenched his fist, digging his nails into the palm of his hand and trying not to let the tidal wave of things that could have possibly happened to them all overwhelm him. If the last conversation he had with the woman he loved was an argument, he didn’t know how he was going to live with himself. 

Then, Dorian had an idea. 

“Oh, Hermela’s gonna kill me for this.” He grumbled, fumbling through his contacts to the emergencies tab and clicking call on an unlabeled number. 

“... Hey Karyme. It’s Dorian. Yes, Dorian Ashdown. The one you hate. Listen… I need your help.”


	31. Book 2: Ch. 7

_ “Moooooom! Hannah’s touching meeeee!” A young Sydney squealed in the back seat, twisting away from her older sister who was hovering her hand over her body.  _

_ “No I’m not! No I’m not!” Hannah taunted back. “I’m not touching you!”  _

_ “Girls!” Their mother turned around in the front seat, glaring at them. “We came to Florida for sun and relaxation, not for you two to yell at each other. Sweetheart,” she turned to their father, “How long until we get to Clearwater beach?” _

_ “About twenty minutes, I reckon.” He replied.  _

_ “There, twenty minutes.” Their mother turned back to the little sisters. “Do you think you can behave yourselves for twenty minutes?” _

_ “But moooooom, I don’t wanna go to the beach!” Hannah whined. “I don’t feel good!” She could have told her mother the truth, that she had the flu, but she was too young to know what that felt like.  _

_ “Hush. Help your sister put on some sunscreen before we get there.” She handed her a dented blue bottle. “She got burned yesterday and I don’t want it getting any worse.” _

_ “Be careful, Hannah.” Sydney said cautiously as her sister slathered her with white zinc. “My shoulders still really hurt!”  _

“Sydney. Sydney? You awake?”

Sydney jerked awake with a wince as she pressed her shoulder against the cushion of the car. She had fallen asleep slumped against the window; her whole left shoulder was already turning red from the sunburn she had just acquired. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and hazily accepted the bottle of water Sofia handed her. 

“Sorry to wake you,” Sofia said, “But you’ve been in and out of sleep for about four hours.”

“No, I’m glad you woke me.” Sydney said hoarsely. “I didn’t even realize I had fallen asleep. Should have guessed by the weird fever dreams.”

“You should’ve let her sleep.” Hermela said from the front seat. “We have six more hours of driving to do, then one hell of a hike across the desert.” She leaned over into the front passenger seat and chucked a plastic box and a crinkly plastic bag over her shoulder: they landed squarely in Sydney’s lap. “I got you a juice box and some snacks when I stopped to get gas.” 

Sydney cracked a half smile. “Awww, you remembered that I eat. Thanks Herms.”

Hermela muttered something under her breath and turned the radio up. 

The Egyptian countryside flew by, arid mountains and long stretches of sand sprawling in every direction. It was so starkly different to the California countryside, with its constant rolling hills and clusters of low trees. This land was dry and  _ hot _ , but beautiful in its rich warm tones against the bright blue sky. If she tried particularly hard, Sydney could forget she was in a stranger’s car in a foreign country and just pretend she was out on a space-age drive across the stunning surface of some distant planet. It gave her a brief moment of relaxation that she hadn’t experienced in days. But it couldn’t last forever: the events and emergencies of her life pounded on the locked doors of her brain, demanding to be let back inside. Reality could only be kept at bay for so long. 

She turned to Sofia. “You got any cell service?” 

The vampire held up her phone, the data settings screen repeatedly flashing ‘no connection’ in tiny black lettering. 

“Damn.” Sydney muttered. “I was just… nevermind.”

“Hoping my brother would have called you to profusely apologize by now?” Sofia guessed. 

“Yeah. Something like that.” 

“I get it.”  
“I just… he was clearly _hurting_ about something, something more than Timur or Enhed or anything. But he wouldn’t tell me _what_ , you know?” Sydney said in frustration. “And I know it’s not my fault. I didn’t do anything. But part of me… part of me wants it to be my fault. At least that way I could call him and apologize and fix the whole thing quickly.”

Sofia frowned. “You’re willing to pretend that _ you _ did something wrong instead of him so the problem goes away?”

“No. No, no.” Sydney scoffed. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t… honestly, I don’t know what I’m saying right now.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m just… I’m tired, I’m dizzy, and I’m sick of being hunted. But I’ve got to keep going forward. This is just as much my responsibility as it is yours.” 

“I told you we should have gone with my plan.” Hermela interjected. “Rent a hotel room and lock her in it, force her to get some rest and to stop dragging herself across broken glass for other people.” 

“You and I both know I would have found a way to get out and get to the Gilf Kebir plateau by myself.” Sydney replied dryly. 

“Yes, I am indeed aware. That’s exactly what makes you so infuriating.”

Sydney glanced at the dashboard clock. “You said six hours? At least we won’t be in the apex of the desert sun. I think that’s almost sunset.”

“Oh, before I forget!” Sofia said, fumbling around in the storage pocket on the back of the front chair. She pulled out what must have been the world’s ugliest, floppiest sunhat and attached neck covering. “I got this for you. You know, so you don’t burn all your skin off in the first hour of walking.”

“I’m not wearing that.”

“You are absolutely wearing that.” Hermela commented.

“What are you going to do, make me?”

Hermela laughed. “If you don’t put it on yourself? Yes.”

With a grumble Sydney accepted the hat, trying to ignore Sofia’s stifled snicker. 

* * *

The sun was only about a half-hour from setting when they got to their final destination. Sydney watched the land they drove past get more and more arid and sandy, the thin grasses and occasional dry palm tree eventually disappearing to be replaced with long, broken plateaus far across a sea of orange-red sand. The road grew narrower and less well-kept, eventually almost disappearing under a fine layer of sand. Hermela pulled off to the side and stopped on what could only be described as a post-apocalyptic parking space: a medium rectangle of cracked asphalt that was half-encircled with rusted guardrails. She perched on the hood of the car, looking back and forth between an enormous paper map that she had carefully been marking, and a big clunky piece of technology that looked like a retro radio. 

“I look like an idiot.” Sydney remarked calmly, rounding the side of the car. Vampires didn’t exactly stock their cars with sunscreen, so the two sisters had insisted the human protect herself from the UV rays as best she could with what they had. Sydney was wearing that god-awful hat and neck protector, bejeweled sunglasses from the glove compartment, and had a towel draped over her arms and shoulders to give them some coverage from the sun. 

“Well, looking like an idiot is better than melanoma.” Sofia replied. “Herms, can we get moving already? I’m not a big fan of standing out here in the open.”

Hermela’s sharp eyes looked up over the edge of the map. “Do you know how big the Gilf Kebir is, Sofia? Over three thousand miles. We are searching for a tiny entrance to a tiny cave on the wall of a massive plateau where everything is a variant of orange or red. So no, we can’t get moving already. I’m going to make sure the coordinates I’ve got plotted are accurate down to the centimeter.”

As a woman of her word, it took the older vampire ten minutes to triple-check that her plotting of the coordinates Karyme had gotten from them was correct. She stood, stuck her GPS locator out to get the exact degree of their orientation, then wordlessly set out into the rolling desert dunes. Sydney and Sofia exchanged equally miffed looks before following her. It took only seconds for hot grains of sand to start infiltrating Sydney’s shoes; she ground her teeth as another element of unpleasantness was added to her life. She really couldn’t catch a break. 

The sun beat down relentlessly, its heat going uncooled by the warm winds that rained grains of sand across the three women’s calves as they marched through the desert. Hermela seemed to be aiming at the low, reddish-brown plateau of rocks to the west; they were so far away they waved and moved with the heat of the desert. Thankfully, just as Sydney predicted, the sky started going brilliant shades of purple and orange and the sun disappeared behind the plateau. By then, they had been walking for over an hour. 

Sydney had been lagging behind more and more every minute. Her armpits and face were drenched in sweat, her heart beating wildly in a vain attempt to regulate her oxygen and heat with what little blood she had. 

“You should let me carry you.” Sofia commented. 

Sydney waved her away. “I don’t need to be carried.” She gasped out between heavy breaths. 

Thirty minutes later stars started to appear in the sky and Sydney was swaying gently to the even-steady footfalls of Sofia, on who’s back she was slumped over. By now they had reached the bottom of the plateau that rose above all of them like a daunting fortress wall of worn red rock. It was cracked and damaged, made uneven by time. 

The eerie, wind-tousled silence of the night was broken by Hermela heartily swearing. “It was supposed to be here. Right here. Right in front of us!” She looked down at her map and back up again several times before cramming it into her purse. “Alright. Spread out. Keep an eye out for anything remotely illegal or archaeological looking.” 

Sydney murmured a shaky thanks as she clambered off of Sofia’s back and wobbled over to the plateau wall for some rest, looking for a good spot to sit her exhausted self on. Sofia and Hermela split in opposite directions as she finally found what looked like a little alcove that was at least a bit more sheltered from the wind than anywhere else. With a tired sigh, she let herself fall against what she assumed was a small dip in the stone. 

It was not a small dip. 

Were it not for her hyper-aware and high-anxiety reaction time, Sydney would have fallen to her death. The wall was  _ much  _ further back than she imagined, and she only managed to grab either lip of the alcove before she fell into it completely. Then she was made aware that the heels of her feet were hanging off the edge of something. She hazarded a look down and was faced with an inky black tunnel that went straight into the earth with no visible bottom. Tucked almost out of sight was a rope ladder, hammered into the stone with thick steel spikes, new and untarnished. 

“Hey guys.” She said loudly into the desert air, cautiously navigating herself away from the drop-off, “I think I found something.” 

The two women ran back just as Sydney was dusting herself off. The narrow entrance to the hole was so incredibly difficult to see that she had to point it out to Hermela’s normally eagle-sharp eyes. 

“Well I’ll be damned. Good catch, Sydney.” Sofia said, tugging on the ladder. “Seems safe enough to go down.” She turned around, looking back up at the sky and the stars, trying to figure out what time it was. “It’s pretty late though, Herms. Do you think we should‒?” She turned around just in time to see the top half of her sister disappear down the ladder into the mysterious hole below. “That… answers my question, I guess.” 

“Wait.” Sydney said as Sofia moved to follow. The dark and gaping maw of the pit filled her with dread. “Is… is this worth it? I mean, for all we know the stuff that Masoud found in that jar, that fermented compound, it was just a fluke of thousands of years of bacteria and aging that  _ happened  _ to have an effect on vampire flesh. We could get stuck down there. We could have come all this way for nothing.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Sofia paused with her leg on the first rung of the ladder. “Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe we  _ did  _ come all this way for nothing. But maybe we didn’t. Maybe there’s a one-hundred year supply of that stuff down there and a written recipe for it on a table. The truth is, we won’t know until we check.” She locked eyes with Sydney. “And right now, we don’t have any other option.”

Sofia slowly descended the ladder, disappearing into the dark stone tunnel and leaving Sydney alone on the surface of the desert. Sydney knew Sofia had silently given her a choice: if she was really  _ that  _ tired and  _ that  _ anxious, she could stay up top and wait for them to come back. Alone. Being distinctly unhelpful. Being a coward when her friends might potentially need her help. 

Sydney went down the ladder. 

“Oh, this is  _ so  _ much worse than I thought it would be.” She groaned to herself as the world got darker and darker around her. She could feel the back of the tunnel brushing against her shirt as she shakily felt for one rung after the other, the rope creaking and shifting, coarse and rough under her hands. She couldn’t help but think about just how far down this shaft might go… and how far down she would fall if this flimsy rope were to break. 

An eternity later her foot hit hard stone instead of another ladder rung, and she slowly and nervously felt for more solid ground before letting herself drop down into another pitch black space. She opened her mouth to call for Hermela and Sofia, but someone clapped a hand around her face. 

“Shhhh.” Sofia whispered directly into her ear. “Someone else is here. We’re not alone.” She turned Sydney’s head to face a long, narrow hallway carved out of stone. The walls were chipped and uneven, dug out with tools from who knows how many thousands of years ago. At the far end of the tunnel was a faint light that shifted every once in a while. It was too white and too strong to be a fire; it had to be a flashlight. One of Masoud’s workers was still here this evening. 

“I should have smelled him before I even went down the tunnel.” Hermela whispered on the opposite side of Sydney’s head. 

“With the wind outside?” Sydney whispered back. “No way. Not even a bloodhound could keep a trail out there.”

There was a faint clatter on the far end of the tunnel. “You two stay here,” Hermela murmured, pulling away, “I’ll handle this.” 

Before she could hustle away Sydney grabbed at the darkness and caught the hem of her shirt. “I didn’t come this far just to be sidelined.” She hissed insistently. “We’ve been through everything before this together. I’ll be damned if I let you walk into a new situation alone.” Sydney looked up at where she assumed Hermela’s face would be if she could actually see. 

“Humans.” Sofia whispered warmly. “So tenacious.” 

With a sigh Hermela grabbed Sydney’s wrist and started slowly guiding her down the tunnel. Sydney’s heart hammered in her throat as they drew nearer and nearer to the light source, closer and closer to the tiny underground room. 

The trio crept through the low stone doorway into the next room. Sofia had to stifle a gasp. This dig site was a tomb. Pressed against the back stone wall was a massive stone coffin wrapped in bands of bronze, which had all now been roughly torn apart by a power tool. The heavy lid, which was at least a foot thick, had been shattered off the coffin in pieces that now lay broken and twisted by its base. A shriveled hand, leathered and darkened by time, lay on the coffin’s edge like a woman relaxing in a bathtub. It looked like someone had hastily inspected the body, found nothing of value, and carelessly dropped it. A dozen jars identical to the one that was currently sitting at home at the Ashdown estate leaned against the wall, one smashed to pieces with its contents long-dried. Other than that, the room was completely bare and completely still‒ save for the man who was staring straight at them, his headlamp shining in their eyes and a pickaxe held loosely in one hand. 

As soon as Hermela moved a millimeter he was shocked out of his stunned state, backing away from them with a panicked noise. 

“Wait‒” Sydney said quickly, bringing up a hand to caution him. 

It was too late. The man hit the back of his legs against the coffin and went wheeling backwards, falling into the giant, unlidded container and directly onto the shriveled corpse inside. Sofia and Hermela tensed, waiting for him to clamber out of it and charge them with the mining weapon. 

Instead they heard a small shuffle, then an abrupt scream cut off by a wet gurgle. Sydney couldn’t see over the lip of the coffin, but she knew from the bottom of her heart that that man was dead. She dreaded to know how. 

The room was dead silent. 

“Sof?” Hermela said quietly. “How many known cases of dehydrated and subsequently reconstituted vampires are there in known history?”

“Four.” Sofia murmured back. 

The mummified hand uncurled from its position and drew back into the coffin. 

“Five.”

Sydney’s eyes were so wide they ached. This… this was something out of a nightmare. A fever dream. This  _ couldn’t  _ be real, what Herms and Sofia were talking about. That corpse… was alive?

“Sydney. Run.” Hermela commanded.

Every single one of Sydney’s instincts screamed to go with that order, but she held firm. Last time she ran away, her friends were slaughtered in the snow. She would not run again.

There was another shuffle of skin on stone. Sydney took a step back, tensing and waiting for some horrific, demented carcass to raise itself out of the coffin like some creature from the bowels of hell. She was stunned when a completely different individual rose. The skin of the corpse they saw before obviously belonged to this woman: she  _ was  _ the corpse, but different. Standing in front of them in clothes that were so old they came apart with every movement, was a beautiful woman with a shaved head and dark sepia skin. Her eyes when she first opened them were ringed with faint red, but as she blinked and oriented herself, the color slowly faded.  _ Probably because of the human-sized meal she just had _ , Sydney realized with a sick feeling. 

The woman in the coffin and the three women at the opposite end of the room stared at one another. Somehow, standing in front of them, was a vampire that was thousands of years old. Trapped in the very same room as the poison that would defeat the Red Assembly. 

With one fluid movement the woman raised her hand and Hermela bared her fangs in response, ready to fight. But the woman did not launch into action. She just wiped her fingers across her mouth, looking down at the corpse of Masoud’s worker with a pained expression and regret in her eyes. Then she locked gazes with Hermela, and moved to get out of the coffin. 

“Take another step and I’ll cut you down where you stand, old woman.” Hermela hissed, her tone unmistakably hostile. 

The woman paused and cocked her head. Sydney was thrown by her expression; unlike other vampires she had met that had tried to kill her, this woman’s look wasn’t cold or calculating. It was the look of a wary mother, confused and worried by a situation that her children had gotten into. She cautiously spoke a questioning sentence in a language none of them could even begin to understand. When she realized her query fell on deaf ears, she switched to another language. Then another. Then another. 

Sydney was flabbergast. This woman, even though she was from a culture thousands of years ago… she was extraordinarily well educated. 

Finally she switched to what even Sydney thought sounded vaguely Chinese. Hermela scoffed incredulously. “Thats- that’s ancient Mandarin. The mummy’s speaking Mandarin.” She said something back, and the woman’s face brightened. They were  _ communicating _ . 

After a few terse seconds of conversation Hermela looked blown away, and made no move to stop the woman as she clambered out of the coffin and hurried towards Sydney. Sofia moved to stop her but Hermela held up a hand to say it was okay, her eyes wide as saucers. 

The woman cupped Sydney’s face in her hands, a warm, genuinely happy smile on her face. She said something to Hermela. Sydney was just about to ask through pinched lips what the creepy rehydrated vampire was saying when Hermela started translating. 

“She said that she is overjoyed that there's a human among us and we're not attacking her.” It came entirely out of left field when Hermela herself started grinning. 

“Herms,” Sofia said hesitantly, looking at her sister like she was out of her mind, “Pardon my French, but will you  _ please  _ tell me what the  _ hell  _ is going on here?!”

“It’s  _ her _ , Sof.” Herms said, eyes sparkling. “What dad’s journals said was true. Egypt  _ is  _ the cradle of our civilization.” She gestured to the vampire still pinching Sydney’s cheeks like a proud grandmother. “That’s patient zero. That’s the mother of all vampires.”


	32. Book 2: Ch. 8

**CHAPTER 8**

Nakita sat cross-legged on the table, directly across from Jameson and his slapdash biochemistry set. It was her turn to babysit and monitor the shifty, anxious human: he had already made for the door to the Ashdown manor twice. He was caught quickly and effortlessly, of course, but that didn’t make his blatant escape attempts any more palatable. 

He sat on an old wooden chair, a wild spread of petri dishes and notes covered in diagrams and chemical values all over the table before him. The Ashdowns and the remnants of the Enhed community had been relentless in pressuring him to study the remains of the so-called “Achilles Compound,” a name nobody else used for the noxious sludge because they all collectively agreed it was stupid. 

The grandfather clock chimed in a distant room, it’s endless ticking the only noise that echoed through the halls save for the scribblings of a pencil and an occasional awkward human cough.   
Jameson had been at this for days. He was finally putting the pieces of the puzzle together. With a decisive stroke of his pencil he eliminated one of Bernard’s theories, leaving only one remaining. 

“Can I… erm…” Jameson said uncomfortably, avoiding Nakita’s direct gaze. She had been taking a leaf out of her girlfriend’s book, and her penetrating glare now felt like a deadly laser. “I need another subject sample. It’s the last one,” he added quickly upon seeing her glower, “I promise.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Nakita took up the vegetable peeler that was sitting on a tray and brought it down on her arm. Jameson always had to look away for this part, nausea creeping up his throat; nobody should ever have to witness someone else get skinned. 

A petri dish was unceremoniously slid into Jameson’s peripheral vision. “Thanks.” He muttered awkwardly, bringing the large skin sample up to the microscope and bisecting it with a scalpel. The thank you was genuine: out of all the others in this house, he got the least aggression from Nakita: probably because she wasn’t a direct descendent of Bernard’s. Plus, she was one of the only ones who was good at consistently remembering that humans did, in fact, need to eat and sleep on a regular basis. 

Jameson carefully dipped a long swab into the clay vessel nearby and spread it over a small portion of the sample, peering through the scope lens and holding his breath, watching the cells change and morph right before his eyes. He slowly lifted his head from the device, looking at Nakita with a tired and certain gaze. “You should get the others. They’ll probably want to hear this.”

Everyone still sheltering on the Ashdown property was gathered around the kitchen table a few minutes later. It was a ragtag group: Nakita stood close to Sloan, while DeMarco, Deveraux, and Hakim flanked the opposite side. 

Hakim rested his hands on the table in front of Jameson. “This better be really, really good, lab boy.”

Jameson swallowed shakily. He’d spent days here, but being encircled by vampires would give any human the chills. “It is, I promise.” He hesitated for a moment. “You  _ promise  _ me that once I’ve given all you the information I’ve been able to deduce, you’ll take me home? Alive?” 

“Of course. I swear on the soul of my mother.” Hakim replied. That wasn’t much of a promise, but he didn’t need to reveal that. 

“Okay.” Jameson finally said. He pushed two small sample dishes forward, both containing a small rectangle of dermis tissue. He gestured to both of them, making sure everyone in the room could see. “These‒ there are two identical samples of vampiric flesh‒ thank you again, Nakita. I’ve isolated them in a sterile, hyper-oxygenated saline solution.” 

Jameson tucked one of the dishes under the microscope lens and gestured for Hakim to look into it, gathering some tools up as he did so. “As you can see, the cellular structure is impenetrable. It doesn’t absorb the oxygen or hydration from the saline. But, if we add a drop of blood‒ my blood, in this case…” He pricked his finger and wiped it into the dish. Hakim watched as the vampiric cells under the microscope seemed to absorb the red blood cells that came in contact with them, rejuvenating and growing healthier before his eyes. 

“This, of course, is standard behavior. For a vampire, I mean.” Jameson said quickly before Hakim could open his mouth. “But in my several days of… coerced study, I realized Bernard has been going about his approach to his research all wrong. Look.” With a deft move he swapped the first petri dish for the unbloodied one. He carefully drew some of the mysterious compound into a needle and injected it into the middle of the clean sample. Hakim held his breath, expecting the cells to begin to wither and die, just as they always had when they came into contact with vampiric flesh. But they did not. The cells seemed to shiver for a moment, but otherwise stayed exactly the same. 

“It’s not… they’re not dying yet.” Hakim said, one eye still pressed to the microscope. The room full of vampires audibly shifted with surprise. “Why aren’t they dying?” Hakim demanded.

“Wait. Just‒ just watch.” Jameson pricked his finger once more, red blood cells dribbling down directly against the skin cells under the microscope. Only this time, nothing happened. The blood wasn’t absorbed like in the first sample; it simply hung in the saline, unchanged. 

Jameson grinned at the furrow in Hakim’s brow. “The cells in that tissue sample? They’re vampiric just like in the first sample. So the question is, how are they alive right now in a solution that contains poison? And being vampiric, why aren’t they absorbing the blood?” He paused, hands raised like a teacher waiting for someone to shout out the answer in class. When he got nothing in response he swallowed uncomfortably and tapped the petri dish. “Remember, this saline is hyper-oxygenated. The cells are alive because the oxygen in the saline is sustaining them **,** and as we all know, oxygen is essential to the survival of …”

“Of humans.” Sloan breathed, wide-eyed. 

The room exploded into a clamor as vampires hurried over to get their turn examining the un-killed flesh on the petri dish, the room loud with discussion and gasps of disbelief. 

Hakim remained motionless, staring at Jameson across the room. Slowly, ever so slowly, a broad smile started to pull at his mouth, his eyes twinkling. “Bernard thought it was a toxin. But it’s not a toxin, is it?” His grin was full now. “It’s a cure.”

God, Dorian was going to  _ flip  _ when he called him.


	33. Book 2: Ch. 9

It took a few seconds for the dust to settle and for the shock to set in for Sofia and Sydney. In the meantime, the woman and Hermela were babbling back and forth to one another in rapid dialog, sharing all sorts of information the others weren’t privy to. 

“Hermela?!” Sydney finally collected herself enough to gasp out. “Mind looping us is?!”

“Oh, right. Of course. Yes. Of course.” The older vampire said. She immediately started to act as a translator between the English and Chinese-speaking parties, repeating their words in a different language seconds after they had said them.

“What‒  _ who  _ are you, exactly?” Sydney demanded at the stranger, her voice shrill with tension and fear.

“I am Menaket!” Hermela translated over the mysterious vampire’s rapid speech. “I am like Hermela, like the other one standing next to you! Oh, this is a wondrous day. They are your friends? And they are not trying to kill you? The Assembly must have collapsed then, yes?”

Sofia blinked in confusion. “How… how do you know about the Red Assembly? It’s not gone, it… it leads the vampire population. They’re targeting us for our relationship with mortals.”

Menaket looked crestfallen. “So Zhuang got his way after all. I thought for one beautiful second that his province had risen against him.”

“Zhuang.” Sofia breathed. “Wait. The head of the Red Assembly board? He’s re-elected year after year. It’s no surprise, really, he was the founder of vampirism in ancient China.”

“Oh, that lying  _ pig _ !” Menaket seethed. “I will have his head for the untruths he has been spreading!” She locked eyes with Sofia. “China is not the birthplace of your condition, Egypt is!  _ I  _ am the creator of this plague! Zhuang has twisted it, made it evil, cruel. I‒ I never meant for it to be  _ cruel _ .” 

The heartbroken, aghast expression on Menaket’s face made no sense to Sydney. There was no way this woman was the source of all the evil, all the pain that vampires had brought to the world. A woman who looked this kind, this open, couldn’t possibly be responsible for a subset of people that killed without remorse or thought. 

“Menaket…” Sydney said hesitantly, coming forward. “Do… do you know how long you were locked in there?” She gestured to the broken coffin. 

“Last I knew of, Alexander was marching on our lands.” She paused. “How long have I been starved and hidden in this wretched tomb?”

The three other women in the room exchanged knowing, pained glances. Menaket had missed so much of the world, of history: by now, her friends and family, vampire and human alike, were probably all dead. 

“Menaket…” Sydney replied. “Alexander the Great took political control of Egypt over two thousand years ago.”

It took Hermela a bit to properly convey the amount of time that had passed. But when she did, Menaket inhaled breathlessly and sat heavily down on the edge of the stone coffin. She looked shell shocked, the almost unimaginably long amount of time sending her head spinning. “So many eons… so much time… so much time that they have kept me locked away.”

“ _ Who  _ locked you away?” Sofia pressed. 

Menaket looked up at her and for the first time Sofia saw rage in her eyes. “The Red Assembly. After all these years, they still call themselves that. Unbelievable.” She scoffed. “Zhuang insisted they keep me alive, even after his power grab. He wanted to use me as a resource, in case things ever got out of hand.” Her eyes slid over to Sydney, who had quietly backed away during this conversation and was crouched, inspecting the clay vessels that were propped up against the wall. 

“Oh! Excellent!” Menaket crowed, darting over. Her clothes were rapidly disintegrating as she moved, particles drifting to the floor. She fell to her knees next to Sydney, running her hands over the vessels and wiping away the dust. She unceremoniously popped the top off one of them and breathed in the smell deeply, much to the dismay of Sydney who pressed a hand to her nose in disgust. “My work, it’s still good! Even after all this time. The cool air has preserved it.”

Sydney blanched. “ _ You  _ made this stuff?”

“Every drop of it. And I’m the only one who knows how to make more.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Sydney crossed her arms, looking wary. “You claim  _ you’re  _ the mother of vampires‒ which we don’t even know is  _ true _ , by the way. Why would someone who founded something so powerful make a poison that kills it?”

Menaket looked at her strangely for a moment after Hermela had translated Sydney’s words for her. Abruptly, she broke out into a laugh. The laughter faded when she realized what the human had said was not a joke. “A poison? This is not a poison, child! This‒” she tapped on the vessels with her knuckles, “is the  _ cure  _ for what ails your two friends over there, and for what ails me.”

“I’ve seen it  _ kill  _ a vampire! He‒ he was my friend!” Sydney countered, throat tight. An abrupt vision of Timur crumbling to the floor in a bloody heap assaulted her mind’s eye, and she shut it out as quickly as she could. 

“Any medicine if, given improperly, can have dire effects.” Menaket replied quietly. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She took Sydney’s hand gently, consolingly: her skin was smooth and cold from her time in a tomb. “Your friend… did he imbibe my cure? Did he inhale it into his lungs and submerge his body within it? The whole of one’s being needs to be exposed to my cure for it to strip them of their vampirism.” 

“No… no, he didn’t drink it. He‒” Sydney paused. Menaket would have no clue what a bullet was, and that was a whole conversation she wasn’t willing to have right now. “Someone killed him with a weapon coated in it. His wound didn’t heal in time.”

Menakat looked taken aback. “I… I see. I did not ever expect someone to use my cure in such a violent way.” She brought her fingers up to her temples, looking tired by the wave after wave of bad news she had received. “All of the things I created to better our people, all of the knowledge I have learned under the guidance of Thoth… it has all been taken and turned into something malicious.”

Hermela interrupted her own translations when she looked at her absolute brick of a GPS locator. “We’ve been here too long. We were supposed to grab some vessels and go: we need to leave now; for all we know more assembly lackeys are still hunting us down.”

“But we still don’t know anything about her, about this!” Sydney gestured to the vessels and to Menaket. “I mean, she could be lying to save her own skin! Maybe the Red Assembly put her in here because  _ she’s  _ more dangerous than  _ they  _ are, which is seriously saying something!”

Sofia was hastily packing vessels away into her satchel as she replied, tossing handkerchiefs and empty water bottles all over the floor to make space. “We do know, actually.” She paused, shaking her head like even she couldn’t believe it. “She’s the real first vampire.”

“How could you POSSIBLY know that?!”

“It’s the smell.” Hermela replied, helping her sister cram the last vessel in. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s undeniable. When you’re a vampire you can smell another immortal, like a tingle in the back of your throat. The scent is unique, just like human scent is unique. I’ve never been so completely overwhelmed by the presence of another one of our kind more than Menaket. And I’ve  _ stood  _ next to Zhuang, the supposed father of all our bloodlines; he is nowhere near this strong.” After she was sure Sofia’s bag was cinched up, she turned back to Menaket, who stood awkwardly in the middle of all of them, unaware of what was being said. “We’re taking her with us.”

“I want to preface this decision by saying I think it’s  _ incredibly stupid _ ,” Sydney replied, “but I agree. We’ve already been chased once: if Menaket is telling the whole truth, we can’t afford to leave anything here for the Assembly to find.”

The four women left the small cavern in the deep earth, one by one scaling the rope ladder up into the much cooler night air. Swathes of stars littered the sky, more than Sydney had ever seen in her life. The moon, though only half-full, lit up the deserve sand and rocks, washing everything in a pale silver light. Sydney tried to not think about the bloodless body of the man they had left in the cavern: a man that would never eat his favorite food, or walk down his city street, ever again. But she let it hurt, let the guilt and unhappiness of a death wash over her. It was important to never become numb to the loss of a life: the second she did, the second it became easier to start justifying deaths as acceptable losses. And she  _ refused  _ to see through the same lense that the Red Assembly did. 

“It’s strange.” Menaket said through Hermela as she walked, looking up at the sky. Her ancient clothes had long since crumbled, and now she strode through the sand clad in the towel Sydney had once used to shield herself from the sun. “You say it has been thousands of years, and by your language and your clothes I know that must be true. Yet still… the sands, the stone, the stars in the sky… they all look so familiar. It feels like no time has passed at all.”

She changed her tune when they arrived at the car a few hours later. It took Hermela a lot of convincing and wheedling to even convince Menaket to get  _ close  _ to the vehicle. Sydney had compassion for the ancient vampire’s wary look and disposition to mistrust this gleaming metal amalgamation; this must look like  _ nothing  _ she had ever seen before. Sydney took her aside for a brief moment, standing under the starlight with her and Hermela as Sofia wiped off the sand and dust that had accumulated on their car. 

“Look, Menaket.” She said carefully. “I don’t know if I trust you yet. I still have a lot of questions. But I know if  _ I  _ had found myself thousands of years into the future, I would want someone to explain everything that was happening.” She pointed to the car, determined to describe and demystify it in a simplistic way. “ _ That  _ is a machine that transports people. It burns fuel which, in turn, moves machinery that turns the four wheels you see on the bottom. There is a padded… carriage, inside. When the car starts to move, it will be very loud, and very fast. It  _ will  _ take some time to adjust to riding inside of it. Okay?”

Menaket looked back and forth between Sydney and the car, which Sofia had just started up. Its headlights illuminated the patchy asphalt road ahead of them. “Thank you,” she said, putting a hand on Sydney’s shoulder, “for explaining it to me. It… well, it seems I have a lot to learn very quickly if I want to survive here.”

Sydney shrugged away the compliment. “It’s nothing: I just know how it feels to be out of your element. I wish there was someone there to warn  _ me  _ about vampires before I was thrown into a life full of them.”

Despite Sydney’s warnings, as soon as Sofia accelerated the car Menaket grabbed onto the headrest in front of her for dear life, looking very much like a cat stuck in a clothes dryer. When they hit a cruising speed of 60 she snapped the headrest off with her tight grip. She held it in both hands and looked over at Hermela next to her with big, owlish eyes; Hermela had to pointedly turn away so she wouldn’t laugh.

“Herms? We got anything for Menaket to wear other than a towel?” Sydney asked.

“Hmm. Check under the front passenger’s seat.” Hermela said. 

Sydney fumbled blindly in the semi darkness of the car, her fingers eventually brushing against some cloth. She dragged the article of clothing out and unfolded it. “It’s a cocktail dress and leggings.” She stated bluntly, lifting an eyebrow. “Why does Karyme keep cocktail dresses under her seats?”

“Back when she and I were together, she was quite the… messy eater. She always liked to keep a spare outfit somewhere in case her clothes got a little too graphic.”

Over the next twenty minutes they taught the ancient egyptian about the several thousand members of bloodthirsty vampires around the world, and their governing leaders, the Red Assembly. They told her about vampiric culture and its views on human life, touching on Bernard and Godyth, and finally ending on their escape from Enhed as it was being ripped apart.

“I’d offer you a drink, in light of everything you’ve just learned,” Sofia offered weakly from the front seat, “but unfortunately that doesn’t have much of an effect on us.” 

“This is‒ this is  _ worse  _ than anything I ever feared. Zhuang has made good on his threat tenfold. I… I only wished to help.” Menaket brought her knees up to her chest, resting her chin atop them. Sydney was struck by just how young she looked. She couldn’t have been older than 35, and that seemed an awfully premature age to be the mother of the monsters of the world. 

“I know this must be overwhelming for you, but… I think we all need a little bit of explanation.” Sofia replied. “The Red Assembly has always told us their founder, Zhuang, was given vampirism as a ‘heavenly power’ thousands of years ago. Clearly, that’s not true. So what  _ is  _ the truth?” She quietly turned the air conditioner off and muted the low thump of the stereo in expectation of a good story. 

Menaket looked around at the three gazes fixed on her in the rumbling car, and ran a hand down her face. This appeared to be a painful tale to recount. Gathering her strength, she began. 

“I grew up near the edge of the Nile, in a colorful and ever-growing city. Thebes, it was called. My life was bright and good; I took after my father, a scholar who worked under the guidance of Thoth to better the lives of our people. When he died, I assumed his role, learning all I could of mathematics and architecture, horticulture and medicine. Our city… several cities along the river, actually, began to wither with a crop blight. At one point, most of the people of Thebes went hungry for months. Without the support of our trade partners, we would not have had enough food and money for reparations. 

“Our leaders put all those under the service of Thoth, god of wisdom and knowledge, to work. Our prime directive was to slow, stall, or hopefully halt the spread of the blight. The others I worked with set out trying to find means to protect the cleanliness of the Nile, or redesign the farmlands so the blight could not spread between plants. I took it in another direction: I wanted to look for a way to strengthen the crops themselves, so that even if there  _ was  _ a breakout of sickness, only a small portion of our supplies would perish. And what better place to look for means of defense against sickness than the wilds of nature? Untamed animals and plants have a knack for discovering ways to circumvent ailment. 

“I spent months, if not years, studying in the field. I slowly learned of the miracle that was fermentation: a process that could yield foods that protected and strengthened human bodies, making them less susceptible to disease. I believed I could create something similar for our plant life, so I started growing different samples of culture on fig paste, keeping it in jars in the storage hole below my home. 

“One day, as like so many others, I was out in the wilds examining the natural defenses that acacia tree roots had against the many bugs and diseases of the soil. I didn’t know it at the time… but I was being stalked. Without warning, I was attacked by a wild creature. It was a mongoose, but it acted unlike any mongoose I have ever seen. It’s eyes‒ they were red. It ran at me with a speed I had never seen in an animal before, and tore at my flesh relentlessly. I think it really would have killed me had I not had the foresight to bring a knife. It took… far too long to kill it. Far longer than it should have. By the time I was done, I could not tell what was my blood, and what was the animal’s.”

“I think I know where this is going.” Sydney said, aghast. 

Menaket gave her a small, sad smile. “The creature was rabid‒ with what disease, I didn’t know at the time. I was immediately assaulted with a fever, and shaking chills that wracked my body. I was sure I was going to die, and resigned myself to my fate, losing consciousness under that acacia tree all those miles away from my city.” She paused again to collect herself. Her fingers gripped the hem of her dress tightly. “It was only after I awoke on the far outskirts of my city later that night, two twisted and bloodless carcasses of traveling traders at my feet, that I realized my fate was to be much different. 

“I hid myself away in my home, initially terrified of what I had become. My strength was tenfold, my smell and my sight so loud and so sharp that at first even the whistle of wind over my roof felt like screaming in my ears. I quickly discovered that I felt no hunger, no thirst, and no exhaustion. Any injuries I sustained were quickly reversed back to my original state of health. It was like I had been frozen in a single moment of time, unchanging from that point forward. I was stunned, equal parts fascinated and frightened. Weeks later, I was examining the cultures growing on my fermented fig paste. Unbeknownst to me until later, I had cut myself on a stray piece of pottery and contaminated one of the paste jars. When I touched the strange, orange substance that had grown out of that, it tingled at first. Then it  _ burned.  _ I was well acquainted with the cycle of death and decay in the human body because of my studies: and the death of the tip of my finger followed the steps of necrotization and decomposition. It seemed, however unlikely, that a long fermentation of my sickened blood on a sugar-rich base created a sort of… antibody for my disease, for lack of a better word. 

“I shut myself in my house and ran endless trials on rodents, infecting them with my blood and experimenting with their symptoms and reactions. Eventually I had my eureka: if I fully submerged a creature in the diluted cure, they would revert back to their original, aging, injury-susceptible state. Their bodies would unfreeze and once again be affected by the flow of time. I felt…  _ incredible  _ joy at the discovery I had made. I hadn’t found an emergency solution for the blight, oh no: I had found an emergency solution for the  _ people _ ! Next time a blight should sweep our lands, or a plague, or an army, all we needed to do as a community was immunize ourselves from injury or sickness with my blood. We would have  _ months  _ to fix our problems, to fight our battles and restore our lands, before the blood cravings even set in. Before then we could be growing beds of the cure on fermenting figs, bathing people by the dozens. I saw the sickness for what it was, then: not an ailment, but our greatest tool!

“I rushed from my home, my cure in my arms, intent on getting my discovery to the city officials as fast as I could. On the way there, I passed a very important looking older man: he was dressed in rich colors and surrounded by an entourage of foreign guards. He asked me where I was going: I told him I couldn’t stop to converse, as I had a solution for the blight and famine that so often plagued our lands. The man told me his name was Zhuang, and he had come all the way from China through the Red Sea: his lands suffered similar problems of starvation and the occasional wave of illness. He beseeched me to come converse with him. I… I was young, optimistic, and  _ very  _ excited to finally be able to use the Chinese I had learned when I was young in a real conversation. So I agreed.

“We returned to his and his men’s camp on the city outskirts, and held council in the main tent. In my eagerness to share knowledge, I demonstrated my healing ability and told him all I knew about the strange boons this disease had granted me. He seemed just as ecstatic as I was: and I was overjoyed at the prospect of this disease saving others, preventing suffering in other lands as well. He asked me to change him, to give him the powers that I myself possessed. In my blind delight of having all my work pay off, I did: it was only after he remorselessly drained his closest guard dry that I realized I had made a mistake. See, Zhuang did not see this disease as a tool to help people in their times of need‒ he saw it as a device of great power. A weapon he could use to take power and control by force. I warned him that to stay in this state forever would mean he would have to kill again and again, drinking the blood of innocents. But I was too late. From the very beginning, he did not care. He just wanted whatever information I had to himself, so he could use it to his advantage. And I had practically laid the biggest weapon in his arsenal at his feet. 

“I was strong enough to take on ten men. But twenty.... I was a scholar, not a warrior. I had never been taught how to fight. Zhuang’s men caught me before I could run, and wrapped me in chains. I pleaded with him to not use what I intended as a medical tool for ill means, but it fell on deaf ears. Still, I knew more about the powers and limits of this sickness then he did: he couldn’t kill me in case he needed my expertise. So he had his men make the deepest, furthest-away, most hidden tomb they could, in the middle of the vast expanses of the desert. They‒ they locked me up with my cure, and threw away the key. I‒ I don’t even  _ remember  _ how many d-days, just  _ screaming  _ and pounding on that coffin lid, terrified and  _ alone  _ in the  _ dark _ ‒”

Menaket’s eyes were wet, her hands shaking. It was impossible to imagine living through the terror, the panic of being stolen away from everything you loved in your life, trapped in endless darkness until you starved into a dehydrated, sleeping husk. All that pain, all that fear: it was all flooding back to her now. Despite hardly knowing the woman, Hermela immediately wrapped her arms around her and pulled her into her embrace. Menaket pressed her head into that solace, soft sobs sounding loud as thunder in the small confines of the car. Sydney sat as close to the window as she could, trying to give them some semblance of privacy. 

Eventually her crying lulled, soft sniffles being overtaken by the endless rumble of the car’s engine. 

“I never knew anything about any of that.” Sydney said quietly after a minute. “If I hadn’t seen you, seen the cure, with my own eyes‒ I’m not sure I would have believed it.” 

“None of us knew.” Sofia replied. “This is… this is  _ so  _ different from what Zhuang always said about the original congregation of the Red Assembly. He said he brought together powerful leaders and figures with his gift, ‘raising up humans to a different, elevated, better form. A superior form.’” She scoffed, sounding jaded. “We’re not different from humans. We’re not special, or smarter, or genetically superior. We’re just frozen. Locked in time. Our culture of superiority, it’s… it’s all fabricated  _ bullshit _ .”

“My discovery was never meant to be a means of superiority.” Menaket replied hoarsely. “I just wanted humanity to be safer.” 

Under the clear night sky, the ground that rushed by on either side of the car started to slowly build back up with greenery and lithe palm trees and they drew closer to the Nile and its cities. Sydney was yawning hard after the car had lapsed into silence. She was trying her best to stay awake despite the fact that the dashboard clock said it was almost 2:00 in the morning. 

“If you open your mouth any wider your face will freeze like that forever.” Hermela said after Sydney’s fifth yawn. She looked down at her human friend with an arched eyebrow. “It’s okay to sleep, you know. We’re here. We’ll probably get back to the city in the early morning, and I  _ promise  _ you that we’ll be getting the first flight back to California no matter the cost.”

“Mm, that’s not why I don’t want to fall asleep.” Sydney replied. “I’m not worried about our plane flight.”

“Then what are you worried about?” 

“Every time I fall asleep, I seem to wake up in a worse situation than the last one. I’m just… tired of things always getting worse, you know?”

“Yeah.” Hermela sighed, looking out the window. If it weren’t for her own windswept visage staring back at her from the glass, she could almost imagine they weren’t in terrible danger right now. “Yeah, I know exactly how you feel.”

The car roared by the first sets of power lines they had seen in hours. “Oh electricity,” Sofia mock-simpered in the front seat, “How I missed your sweet company!” A minute later, her phone chirped twice, indicating it had reconnected with the global network. 

It took only 14 seconds for the numerous missed call, text, and voicemail alerts to start filling up the car in a cacophony of beeps and twitters. Sofia made an irritated noise in the back of her throat, fumbling for her mobile while also keeping one hand on the wheel. The latest alert was two consecutive missed calls from a number that Sydney didn’t recognize. 

“Why the  _ hell  _ is Karyme calling  _ you _ ?  _ Now _ ?” Hermela spat, looking at Sofia’s phone over her shoulder. Sydney’s stomach dropped as she remembered the last thing Karyme said to any of them: ‘ _ If the Assembly comes knocking and asking if I’ve seen you, I wouldn’t hesitate to rat you all out. _ ’ The only reason she could think of for Hermela’s independent ex to be calling them was out of one final gesture of goodwill: she was calling them to let them know the Assembly was right on their tail.

“I have no clue. Maybe she‒” Sofia was interrupted mid-reply as her phone went off once more. Karyme was calling. For a third time in a row. Grumbled, bonking her forehead against the rim of the wheel before answering the phone. “You’re on speaker. What could you possibly want from us now?”

“Alhamdulillah. I thought you were never going to pick up.”

“Trust me, I was tempted to just ignore you.”

“I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t freakin important, okay? Listen, I’ve got‒ hey!” There was a pause as the noise of fumbling and movement filtered through the phone’s speakers. Then, to the surprise of everyone, a familiar and breathless voice filled the car. 

“Sof? Are you there? Is Herms there? Are you with Sydney?”

“ _ Dorian _ ?!” Sydney squawked. Without even thinking she unbuckled her seatbelt and clambered over the cupholder into the front passenger’s seat. What in the world was Dorian doing on Karyme’s cell phone?! 

“Oh my god, Sydney. Sweet baby Jesus you’re okay.” There was a heavy whoosh of relieved air on the other end of the call. “Not that I don’t trust you and my sisters to keep each other safe, because I absolutely do, but you weren’t answering your phone, and I just got so worried‒”

“Yeah, I’ve kind of been on the go for the past few days, Dorian. Haven’t really had any free time.” Sydney replied distantly. She was blinking rapidly, trying to process this new information. “Are‒ are you in Egypt?”

“Of course I am. It’s where you are. I thought I’d pop in and see how your vacation was going.”

Despite the headache in the back of her skull, Sydney couldn’t help but crack a tired half-smile. She missed his stupid voice. 

“Seriously, Raggedy.” Dorian’s tone was less humorous now. “Karyme filled me in. Are you alright? Be straight with me.”

“I’m not gonna lie, Apollo. I’m a little beat up.” Sydney touched her neck. Though it was much less tender, the injury was still tight and inflamed. “But you know me. It takes a lot more than a few battle wounds to derail me when I’ve got my heart set on something.”

“Don’t I know it, sweetheart.”

“Okay, I can sense a change in the conversation mood so I’m going to jump back in now.” Sofia interjected, leaning towards the phone speaker. “ _ Why  _ in the nine circles of Hell is Karyme even allowing you to be within 100 feet of you? Not to sound brash, but I was fairly certain if the two of you ever met you would tear each other to pieces.”

“Tempting!” Karyme’s voice piped up in the call background. 

Dorian gave an uneasy laugh. “I mayyyyy have promised her something that she is very invested in if she helped me find you all. Something that I just discovered myself, actually, thanks to a call from our lovely brother. And something you’ll all be very excited to hear.” 

“Please, take your time telling us.” Hermela said sarcastically from the back.

“Okay, but prepare yourselves.” Dorian paused to build adequate tension. “Bernard’s poison isn’t  _ poison _ … it’s a cure for vampirism.”

The car was silent. 

“Yeah. We already knew that.” Hermela deadpanned. 

“Wh‒ how?! That’s‒ how?! Did  _ you  _ guys kidnap a scientist, too?”

“I’ll elect to overlook that statement for now,” Sydney said, turning to look at Menaket, “but no. We kidnapped the woman who originally created the stuff.”

“...Oh my god, I have so many questions.”

“Questions that can wait until we actually get a chance to meet up?” Sydney asked hopefully.

“Give‒  _ give  _ me the phone, Ashdown.” There was a fumbling noise after Karyme barked out the demand, then her voice was up close in the speaker. “We can use my apartment as a safehouse for the day. It’s not the prettiest place but the Assembly definitely doesn’t know I bunk there. I’ll text you the address: and remember when you’re passing through Giza, take the city roads, not the highway that circumvents it. It’ll be a total log-jam in a few hours.”

“Yeah, it would be a lot easier to trust literally anything you were saying right now if you didn’t recently promise to sell us out at the first opportunity.” Sydney said bitterly. Dorian let out a soft noise of outrage in the background of the call. 

“The situation’s changed, okay bloodbag?” Karyme shot back. “I… I’ve been talking to Dorian, and he’s brought up a lot of loose ends about the Red Assembly that I don’t have answers for.  _ And  _ he promised me that if you were all able to synthesize a full version of a cure, I would be one of the first people to get it. I wasn’t made like this by choice, and now that I know I can opt out, I want to.” She paused at the sound of a car honking. “I’m gonna turn the car around now. We were driving out to you, but now it looks like we’re going to be headed back in the same direction. Who knows: we might even see each other in the city.”

“I’ll see you soon, Raggedy.” Dorian piped up in the distance. “I love y‒”

Karyme ended the call before he could finish what he was saying. Sofia cleared her throat awkwardly at what her brother was about to say, rolling her shoulders and refocusing on driving. She hadn’t expected to hear from him, especially not out here: her plan was to get more of the mystery compound and get the hell out of Egypt. Things were… complicated, now, with Karyme and Dorian. Not to mention the fact that now Dorian knew Sydney was so close by, he would be like a dog with a bone. There would be no way he would accept then all flying home before he got a chance to see she was alright for himself. God, she just wanted to get  _ out  _ of here,  _ out  _ of danger.

As Sofia’s mind was in a fury of thought in the front seat, so was Sydney's in the back. She rested her chin in her hand, staring out the window, her brain an incomprehensible mush of contrasting feelings and worries and fear. This…  _ everything _ , it was all so much. So much more than she was equipped to handle. She just needed a break, a  _ moment  _ of quiet and silence and rest. A moment feeling safe before she put on her brave face again. She needed just a second of being protected by someone so she would be strong enough to protect others. 

She needed Dorian to actually be there for her. 

But the last time they were face to face, she could practically  _ feel  _ him distancing himself from her, slipping like sand through her fingers. So many things in her life had faded like smoke: her college career, her housing, her family, her friends, her life. She didn’t know if she could bear the loss of something else slowly disappearing while she was powerless to stop it. Her headache doubled at the notion and she sighed, pressing her forehead against the night-cooled window. 

“Kid, I’m serious.” Hermela said, turning Sydney’s face towards her. “Go. To. Sleep.”

“But what if something else happens? What if you need me?” Sydney said, yawning through her last two words and completely ruining her argument. 

“We’re not gonna be at a home base for hours, and I’m just gonna be catching Menaket up on the world. Seriously, we won’t need you. Just get some rest.”

“If I wake up and we’re in an even worse situation, I’m kicking your ass.” Sydney mumbled in reply, already balling up the towel to use as a pillow.

Hermela smiled and patted her friend’s leg. Call her a softie, but she really liked this girl. “I’ll hold you to that.” She murmured. She turned to Menaket, starting up a conversation in such a hushed tone it wouldn’t wake even the lightest sleeper.

Sydney let herself be rocked to sleep by the rumbling car. She just had to hold out until they were all safe and back in America. Then she could really rest. Then she could breathe. 


	34. Book 2: Ch. 10

Sydney hated being lied to. Especially when it was a lie that she at first believed to be true. So when she was jolted awake at ten o’clock in the morning because of a hubbub of raised voices inside the car, she was very, very upset. 

“Well I don’t  _ know  _ how long they’ve been following us, Dorian. If I did, I would have called you  _ as soon as they started following us _ !” Sofia barked into her phone, driving with one hand. There was indecipherable yelling on the other side of the call. 

“Plate number A622EDX,” Hermela said loudly, twisted around to look out the back of the car. “The other license plate is obscured. Two silver jaguars. How many streets away are you guys?” She bent forward to speak into the phone in an urgent voice. 

Sydney hazarded a look at her surroundings. They were dodging and weaving through inner city traffic, zipping around corners and through intersections faster than she could register. Crowded buildings towered overhead, intercrossed with wires and flags. Everywhere she looked, there were people. And directly behind them, copying every move they made, were two silver cars that drove with an eerie precision. 

Sydney groaned and pressed the towel down onto her face. “No.” She moaned. “Not this again. No.”

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” Sofia said breathlessly, trying to talk, evade, and hold a phone at the same time. “Hi sweetheart. We’re in a little bit of trouble.”

“Hurry up and  _ lose them _ already, Sof!” Herms said, holding the front seat in a tight grip. 

“I  _ can’t _ , they’re too fast!” Sofia hissed. They sped through a red light, cars all around them honking in dismay. The silver cars barely made it through the intersection before the traffic began to move: they were still on their tail. 

Sydney gasped as she was thrown against the side of the car when they made a sharp left turn. The shock of the impact and the alarm of being woken up quickly morphed into a feeling that was becoming alarmingly common in her life: rage. She threw the towel down with force and angrily raked her hair away from her eyes. “Just  _ one time _ ,” she said furiously, “just for  _ once  _ I wanted to wake up  _ peacefully  _ and  _ slowly _ . Is that too much to ask?!”

“Sweetheart, we‒” Sofia began. 

“No.” Sydney cut her off. “I don’t wanna hear it.” She was letting herself switch gears, drawing some much-needed energy from her irritation. “How far away are we from the safehouse?”

“About twenty minutes out. We’ll be in Cairo soon.”

“We can’t get any closer to Karyme’s house. That’s the last place I want to lead the Assembly. We  _ have  _ to lose them in the city.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, honey,” Sofia said through gritted teeth, stepping on the gas, “that hasn’t been successful quite yet.” 

Sydney looked wildly around the streets and crowded buildings that obscured the sky, looking for something, anything, that would help them. She’d be damned if she let the Assembly get their hands on Menaket or even a single jar of her curative. God knows they’d only weaponize it like they weaponized her from the very beginning. But as long as they were all on the roads, they’d never shake them off. Sydney’s eyes locked on a large parking lot off to the left of them: it sat right in front of the largest, tallest mall she had ever seen. There was no better place to throw off a bunch of bloodhounds than that warren of sound, smell, and people. 

“Pull in! We’ll go on foot through the mall!” Sydney yelled, pointing. The car screeched across the street, burning rubber as they raced into the lot and parked sideways across two spaces. It took no time at all for everyone to snap into action. Sydney slung Hermela’s absolutely stuffed messenger bag across her torso and helped Menaket out of the car. The ancient vampire was doing her best to not look absolutely bewildered and frightened. 

“Go, go, go!” Sofia called. The four of them bolted for the gigantic glass doors of the mall just as the two silver cars came roaring into the parking lot. Sydney started running backwards for a few steps explicitly so she could flip them the double bird, turning back around and darting inside. They were immediately swallowed by the buzz of activity and music inside the gigantic building. It went four stories up, sets of escalators criss-crossing back and forth in the center all the way to the top: they were crowded with shoppers, much like the shops and floors themselves. 

Hermela paused in the center of the giant crowd, looking around wildly for the best place to disappear to. Behind them all the doors slammed open, a small group of furious vampires blustering in. It took them a moment to see the women amidst all the people: their tactic was working, they just needed to put more space between them. 

Just then, Sydney made the critical mistake of glancing over her shoulder as she was running forward with the rest of her group. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, as a deep, primal dread welled in her chest. It was the same fear her ancestors must have felt eons ago, upon seeing a mountain lion coiled and ready to pounce from a cliff above them. 

Because heading the pack of vampires that had just burst into the building was Lysander Ashdown. His expression was livid, his blonde hair tucked into a bun that was frayed and sullied by the commotion. He looked around with a snarl warping his lips like a frenzied predator. Then he locked eyes with the human across the crowd, and that bone-chilling, vengeful expression turned into a feral grin.

Without even thinking, and without even realizing she was moving, Sydney wordlessly grabbed Sofia and Hermela by their wrists and began pulling them forward towards the escalator. Any logical or tactical ideas she had went out the window: right now, she felt  _ hunted.  _ All she could focus on was getting as far away from that murderous psychopath as possible. 

The four women dodged and wove their way up the crowded motorized staircase, wide-eyed and terrified. Already Sydney could hear the shouts of ‘MOVE!’ and the loud protests of people being shoved aside as the Assembly squadron made to catch up with them. She darted past a rather broad woman on the escalators then looked back, biting her cheek. 

“I’m  _ very  _ sorry!” She quickly said, then gave the woman the hardest shove she could muster. She fell backwards just as Sydney hoped she would, stopping up the escalator to a point that people started falling over themselves like dominos. As soon as they crested onto the second level Hermela took the helm, veering them into one of the many broad hallways lined with stores at top speed. 

Sydney struggled to keep up with the superhumans, running so fast her legs felt numb and her chest felt like it was on fire. “Lysander!” She gasped out with what little breath she had. “Lysander- he’s here!” She had never seen a vampire lose their footing before, but Sofia stumbled for a second when she heard that name. Without skipping a beat her friend looked behind her as she ran, saw her brother springing behind them, loudly swore, then promptly made a harried sign of the cross. 

“If we had been  _ ten seconds  _ faster they wouldn’t be on our goddamn tail!” Hermela said angrily. The long shop-lined hallway ended in a set of large tinted glass doors. With nowhere else to go, they all slammed them open and found themselves in the bright sunlight of day. The people on the upper patio looked stunned at their sudden loud arrival, murmuring to themselves from their seats under sun umbrellas. 

“It’s a dead end!” Sydney shouted, panicked. The patio was lined with a steel guardrail and it overlooked the congested rooftops of the city buildings around them. There was nowhere else to go; there was only one door in and out. 

Lysander seemed to realize this as soon as he and his goons burst out onto the patio. He held a hand up and the various alarmingly beautiful men and women behind him slowed to a walk. The glitter in his eyes was horrifying: it was the look of a cat who had cornered a mouse, and now was thinking up creative and amusing ways to toy with it. The humans on the patio were growing more and more agitated, some even standing up from their seats and backing away. Lysander seemed to notice this, and pulled something out of his jacket pocket, holding it up and speaking in Arabic as he did; it was a badge of some sort that he clutched in his hand. 

“He’s telling them he’s with the Egyptian National Police.” Hermela hissed in Sydney’s ear. She had a hand on the human’s shoulder, slowly backing them up closer and closer to the railing. 

“Fugitives!” Lysander said loudly, with an aggressive sort of theatricality. His grin was manic. He took his time ambling forward, making it clear he was in no rush. “Come with us quietly, or we will be forced to use… well, force.”

They were cornered. Trapped like rats. What little chance they had to escape through a city they knew nothing about was gone. Lysander truly had the upper hand… and if they went with them, they would be dead in minutes and the Red Assembly would be free to brainwash their members with their brutal moralities. 

Sydney flicked her gaze behind her. The drop off of the buildings was steep, going dizzyingly far down and ending right on top of a roof of another building. It was not a survival jump. Well, not for her, anyways. As quickly and unnoticeably as she could she made eye contact with Hermela and pointedly looked at the rooftop far below them. Without missing a beat the taller vampire exchanged a sharp, directive look with her sister, who wordlessly grabbed Menaket’s hand. 

“You never really were a good communicator, were you, Lysander?” Hermela said bitterly. “Always wanting things your way, unwilling to see other’s needs as above your own.” 

Lysander ground his teeth, his thin veneer of suavity dissolving. “Get over here. Now.” He growled. There was hate in his eyes, and violence lingering right under his skin, ready to be put to use. 

“Sorry.” Sydney said brusquely. Lysander shifted his gaze to her and it took all her willpower to not reflexively step back at the rabid anger in his eyes. “Nobody’s going with anybody. We gotta fly.” She lifted her arms slightly away from her sides. “Goodbye!”

Like a coordinated ballet, Sofia and Hermela snapped into action. Hermela slung Sydney over her shoulders into a fireman’s carry and took a graceful backwards leap over the railing, just as Sofia and Menaket vaulted themselves over. All four of them were whistling downwards through the hot air in less than a second. Lysander’s initial noise of surprise immediately faded as wind roared in Sydney’s ears, the world careening around her in her sudden weightlessness. She suddenly came to the realization that she was trusting the woman who vouched for her death multiple times less than a year ago to safely get her to a roof sixty feet below them. 

She stuck the landing perfectly. And in heels, no less. Sofia and Menaket slammed into the flooring next to them, and they all took off at a blinding speed. Sydney wanted to whoop in adrenaline-fueled delight: that actually  _ worked _ . If she had tried to make that jump she would be a pile of broken bones and snapped tendons. But they were  _ alive _ . 

Her joy was short lived. As she spit hair out of her mouth she looked behind them, and with a sickening jolt of fear watched a small squadron of vampires, Lysander included, land violently on the roof behind them. Hermela was running quickly and jumping over chimney after pipe after AC vent: Sydney couldn’t get enough air in her lungs to even warn her about the threat behind them. But if her senses were as good as she expected, she already knew. 

Sofia headed the pack, taking a massive leap up and across a twenty foot gap to another rooftop. She paused, looking back and letting Hermela overtake her. At the lip of the roof the first vampire of Lysander’s squadron had caught up with them. As he made the leap in a blur of limbs, Sofia dodged his grasping arms and knocked him backwards. He tumbled through the gap between the buildings… directly into the traffic below. 

“I would salute you right now,” Hermela laughed into the wind Sofia caught up with them, sliding down a tiled rooftop, “But my arms are preoccupied!”

Sofia frowned as they jumped another gap, opening her mouth to respond. She was interrupted by a loud, terror-inducing war cry behind them. Lysander and his remaining troops were gaining on them, and fast. They were parkouring over rooftops and turning corners with ease, like a platoon of the world’s most beautiful and murderous models. Most of them broke away, running like bolts of lightning in different directions. Encircling them. Flanking them.

They all began to climb up the side of a building whose roof was too high up to jump to. Sydney had to clamp her jaw shut and cling to Hermela’s muscled shoulders as tightly as she could to avoid screaming as she haphazardly dangled over the heat-hazy city. They spider-jumped from one window ledge to the other, rock-climbing the urban landscape. Just as Menaket was joining them on the rooftop, a vampire launched herself up from the other side of the building and wrapped her arms around the ancient woman from the back. Sofia lunged to help, but it turned out the several thousand year old woman needed none. Menaket threw the woman over her shoulder, laying her out on her back with a cracking noise that sounded like the concrete flooring breaking. With a snarl and one fluid movement, Menaket grabbed her leg, swung her in a graceless arc, and sent her careening off the building like a discus. Sofia and Hermela blinked rapidly, trying to process what she had just seen; it took a violent shooing motion from Menaket to get them all sprinting again. 

“We’re going to run out of roof at some point!” Sofia yelled warningly.

“I know!” Hermela yelled back. “I’m looking for‒ CATCH!” She unceremoniously threw Sydney (and the backpack of curative she was holding onto for dear life) up into the air. Sofia swiftly caught her in her arms like a bride and continued to run as Hermela confronted the vampire that had just leapt off a slanted chimney and straight toward her. They traded blows so rapid it was a blur in the air. Somehow, the vampire managed to get a hand around Hermela’s wrist‒ a crack snapped through the air as he broke her forearm. Sydney cried out angrily into the air as she heard it, watching as more distance was put between her and the friend fighting for her life. 

The only thing a broken bone did was piss Hermela off. She slammed the man back against the chimney, fighting for the upper hand and eventually bashing his skull against the bricks several times until he lost consciousness. She was caught up with them in a flash, moving faster and more fluidly now that she has use of both her arms. The distant and projected voice of a muezzin calling everyone to prayer echoed over their heads in the hot air.

“Head for the Nile!” She said, pointing at a bascule bridge in the distance that hung above the giant band of shimmering water. At this time of the day the Nile was crowded with rapidly moving boats; they moved too fast and too far away to jump across, and the water was made hazardous by the strong undercurrents and rotating bladed propellers. The only way over was the bridge: and there was a massive ferry headed straight toward it. 

The group made a stark turn, jumping the furthest distance they had ever jumped, straight across a four lane city road and barely making it to the other side. Sydney had to shut her eyes, utterly convinced they would plummet to their deaths and thoroughly  _ sick  _ of being on the world’s most dangerous roller coaster.

* * *

“I’m telling you, Karyme, they probably took the second street to the left! They’ll be up on the right!” Dorian insisted as Karyme blasted through another red light. He held his phone in a white-knuckled grip, calling his sister for the 30th time to only get her voicemail. At that exact moment, he had the good fortune to look up into the air. He didn’t believe what his eyes were seeing; his three family members and a stranger went leaping over the street they drove down, high in the air like birds. He watched them with eyes as wide as saucers as they continued to run along the lip of a bank’s rooftop. Seconds later, another cluster of people leapt after them. 

“Pull the car over!” Dorian yelled, already fumbling for his seat belt release. “You’re not gonna believe what I just saw!”

* * *

“We’re almost there!” Hermela said, her focus laser-like. She pointed the bridge out to Menaket, who nodded with tight-lipped understanding.

Lysander and two of his remaining troupe were gaining on them. One of them bailed, splitting away and holding a cellphone to her ear as she slowed. Lysander snarled in frustration at the sight: no doubt she was calling one of the Assembly’s lower managers to let them know he had lost most of his fighters and still hadn’t taken down his siblings. 

The four women dropped from lower roof to lower roof, eventually launching off the lip of a secondhand shop and landing amidst the startled street crowd on the opposite side of the bridge. Even now, the large construction was beginning to lift: pretty soon the gap would be too big to cross. Sofia snuck a glance back at her brother as he tailed them: he was alone and the last one of his fighters had seemingly disappeared. 

The missing fighter abruptly appeared out of the alleyway they were running past, fangs bared and lunging forward at the human cradled in Sofia’s arms. A pink-nailed hand wrapped around his neck and pulled him back into the darkness of the alleyway before anyone could even retaliate. There was the sound of a wet, crunchy thump, and then silence. A fraction of a second later, Karyme sprung out of the alley, Dorian hot on her heels and only feet away from his fleeing siblings. 

“Dorian?!” Sydney said in a wobbly, breathless voice, barely able to see over Sofia’s shoulder. He winked at her as he and Karyme caught up. 

There was no time for a friendly greeting. “Bridge!” Hermela shouted as they sprinted across a crosswalk. The manager of the traffic gate yelled in protest as the group jumped over it, scrambling up the already steep side of the lifting bridge. 

If they had gotten there ten seconds earlier, maybe there would have been time to stop at the top and calculate a jump that would have them plummeting dozens of feet into the very pointy top gear of a ferry ship. But now? There was nothing left to do but take a leap of faith. 

The jump seemed to be a moment of true weightlessness. Sydney saw the birds flying through the air only a few feet from them, saw the beautiful shimmer of the seemingly endless Nile river.  _ This would be a great place to vacation in _ , she thought faintly to herself,  _ if I wasn’t a wanted refugee running from mythical creatures who want to kill me _ .  _ I bet my sister would love the weather here.  _

Sofia landed on the other side of the bridge so closely to the edge that she teetered backwards for a second, almost falling off. Menaket hauled her back onto solid ground, the others landing around her, or catching the lip of the bridge and pulling themselves up over the edge. They had made it, but barely; at this point the bridge was so steep you almost couldn’t stand on it. It locked into the position.

Lysander was on the opposite side, standing on the very edge.

Sydney couldn’t help herself. “You won’t make it!” She called over the sound of boat motors and honking cars. 

Lysander snarled, and leapt. He was three feet short of the other side of the bridge. The gap was massive, yet he seemed genuinely shocked when his hubris betrayed him: he went plummeting down into the slurry of boats and churning water below, disappearing from sight. 

Sydney slipped out of Sofia’s grip and onto the ground as they all looked at the boats passing under the lifted bridge, searching the water for a flash of blonde hair. There was nothing. For all they knew, Lysander had been pulverized by the vast array of rotors and engines below the surface of the river. 

The hot air tousled Sydney’s hair, and she swallowed hard, fighting against being overwhelmed by everything and anything. She turned around to look at the city behind her, only to find Dorian standing there, fists awkwardly clenched and brow scrunched. Sydney immediately knew that face: that was his speech face. Any second now he was going to launch into a big emotional soliloquy that she did  _ not  _ have the energy to hear.

Before he could even open his mouth, his younger sister cut him off. “Save your drama for when we’re somewhere safe, Romeo.” She took Sydney’s grateful hand in hers as the group started to hurry away from the bridge. A lot of civilian attention was already being drawn to them. 

“She’s right.” Karyme said as they briskly walked. “I know a guy at a taxi service a few blocks away from here. We’ll cut through the construction site. Fewer eyes on us.” She lifted up a tarp that hung over a scaffold, ushering them inside. 

The site was empty, void of noise. They had the good luck of arriving at the exact time of day that was a scheduled lunch break, leaving the place temporarily abandoned. The group crept through the skeleton of a large building, looking up at floor after floor of half-finished rebar and concrete. Sunlight filtered through in bright shafts, illuminating the pack dirt strewn with construction debris that they walked on. 

Sydney noticed Sofia about to put her full weight on a large rectangle of plywood resting on the ground, and quickly tugged her a few feet away. “Might not wanna trust that.” She said, rapping the wood with her knuckles. It sounded echoing and hollow. “Temporary covering for a ground support beam pillar. That’s a really long fall.” 

“Do I wanna know how you know that?” Sofia asked with a half-smile. “No, let me guess. A product of a rebellious youth skulking around places you shouldn’t.”

With a tired laugh, Sydney shook her head. “Way off the mark, I’m afraid. My dad was a construction inspector, you know, making sure everything was up to OSHA standards. He’d take me on jobs sometimes, when I was little. I carried his clipboard.” She worried her lip, looking out at the all too familiar scene of abandoned forklifts and bundles of wire wrap. “We don’t… we don’t talk anymore, though. That’s probably for the best.” 

“Hey, you’re not the only one in the boat. I didn’t have the best relationship with  _ my  _ father, either.” 

“Wow. I think that’s a sentence actually befitting the term ‘understatement of the year.’” Sydney and Sofia laughed, squeezing their intertwined hands. It was a miracle that Sofia had stayed so sweet, so gentle, after everything she’d seen. After everything the Ashdown parents tried to teach her. 

“Someone’s‒!” Dorian whirled around and shouted from ahead of them, and was cut off midway as someone exploded out from behind a sheet of freshly applied plaster, tumbling down into the narrow area they were all walking through. Lysander tumbled to a halt and jumped to his feet, shaking dust off his river-soaked body. He was inches away from Sydney. Time froze for a second as he looked down at her with reddened sclera. 

He lunged for her. 

Hermela tried to get to Sydney first, but it was too late. With a choked gasp, she found herself in a tight grip, pressed against Lysander’s damp clothing with a strong hand around her neck. He dragged her back several feet, snarling as the rest of the Ashdowns ran toward him. 

“Any closer and I have  _ no  _ qualms about shutting the blood bag up for eternity.” He hissed. “In fact,  _ please _ , give me any excuse to. I’ve been waiting to do it for months.” 

“Please‒ please let her go.” Dorian ran up to the front of the line of tense vampires, expression aghast. “I just got her back.  _ Please _ , Lysander, don’t do this to me‒”

“The  _ audacity _ .” Lysander’s grip got tighter on Sydney’s throat, and she made a weak strangled noise. “To ask me to  _ help you _ , to feel  _ compassion  _ for you. You‒ the idiotic little  _ infant  _ who has been throwing our world, our lives‒ MY LIFE‒ into chaos just so you can feel good about your moral high horse. You killed‒ you  _ killed our family _ . You ruined everything!” There was no calm aggression left in the man. The circumstances had cast off his carefully maintained cloak of civility, revealing his true nature to his family for the first time in centuries: a creature composed of rage and violence. A creature made of more scar tissue than flesh. “What If I took away something  _ you  _ all loved? What if I just open up this weak little mortal all over the floor?”

“Lysander!” Hermela said desperately. “Bernard shot first! We only retaliated after he killed his own son! Your father‒” She was struggling not to cry, now. “Our father shot Timur!”

“Do I look like I care?!” Lysander shrieked. “I would rather have had mother and father slaughter all of you than die themselves! You’re disloyal  _ animals _ .” He took a deep breath, steadying his manic energy. “Now.” He said much more calmly, nodding towards Menaket. Her description fit exactly what Zhuang told him about; he was under strict command to bring her back alive, regardless of the state of his siblings. “give me the woman, and maybe, just  _ maybe _ , all of you won’t lose as much today.”

“What’s her name, Lysander?” Sydney choked out underneath his death grip. A muscle in Lysander’s jaw twitched, but he refused to even acknowledge her question. “You don’t know, do you?” Even as his grip got slightly tighter, she continued to talk, pressing at what she  _ knew  _ was a weak point. “Nobody ever told you. The Red Assembly never tells you anything. You know why? Because they’re liars, and all they want from you is your obedience. Lysander, they’re not your family.”

“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?” Lysander growled in her ear. His tone was shiver-inducing, pure, animalistic fear filling Riley's body at the close proximity of his teeth. 

If she had not been so wide-eyed, she wouldn’t have seen Karyme surreptitiously palm a short piece of rebar, holding it obscured at her side like a javelin. She caught her eye, a communicative glance passing between them; Lysander was too busy snarling at Dorian to notice. 

“When the congregation is over, rest assured, there will be a  _ fleet  _ of people chasing you to the ends of the earth.” Lysander hissed. “So it’s really in your best interest to come with me, quietly, and avoid a slow and painful death at the hands of a dozen enraged vamp‒”

Karyme gave a slight nod during the middle of Lysander’s tirade. Without missing a beat Sydney snapped her head up and back as hard as she could, using her whole body to put force into the motion. It slammed into Lysander’s nose with a sickening crack. 

She knew vampires didn’t feel pain. After all, she’d seen evidence of the fact with her own eyes. But the point of breaking Lysander’s nose wasn’t to cause him pain, or attempt to escape: it was to enrage him. His gaze was torn away from the people in front of him, and in seconds he had his mouth open, fangs sliding down over his cuspids. Sydney squeezed her eyes shut and hoped she had read the situation properly. 

Before she could once again feel teeth in her neck, Karyme threw the piece of rebar like a spear. It whistled through the air and shot straight through Lysander’s head. The vampire emitted a broken wheeze before his eyes went glassy and his grip on Sydney's throat loosened. He slumped over and onto the dirt, metal bar protruding out the back of his skull. 

Dorian immediately had Sydney in his arms, crushing her to his chest. She returned the hug with gusto as Hermela and Sofia hurried over to their fallen brother. 

“Come on.” Hermela said in a deadened, quiet voice. She gripped Lysander’s head with both hands. “Let’s get this over with.”

Sydney startled: they were going to dismember him so he couldn't regenerate ever again. “Wait!” She called out, hand out to stop them.

“You can’t  _ seriously  _ be suggesting we don’t do this, Syd?” Hermela replied incredulously. “After what he just did? For real?”

“No, I just…” Sydney felt the weight of the vessels of curative in the bag she had slung over one shoulder, the cogs turning in her head. “I think I have a better plan. And grab as much rebar as you can carry. We’re going to need it.”


	35. Book 2: Ch. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Fade-to-black Romantic Intimacy

It took Lysander a good few minutes to regenerate fully after Karyme yanked the rebar back out of his skull. He was hungry, after all. But Sydney was glad it took that long: it gave her a moment to steel herself against the inevitable whirlwind of emotion and aggression the murderous vampire would spark between them all. 

Everyone was gathered in Karyme’s luxurious bathroom back at her safehouse, which was carefully nestled away and only accessible by a small door in a side alley. They all sat quietly, grimly. Fearfully optimistic of what they were about to do. 

The first thing that Lysander did when he awoke was automatically lunge forward on instinct. He found he couldn’t move. Looking down at himself, he realized he was wrapped up in loop after loop of inch-thick metal rebar, and was lying face-up on the floor of a deep bathtub. In nothing but his underwear. Being watched by six people. He let his head fall back against the back of the tub with a groan. “Where… the  _ hell _ … am I?” He said through gritted teeth.

“Somewhere safe.” Karyme countered evenly. She sat on the lid of the toilet, arms folded. 

“I always personally thought you were smarter than this, Karyme.” Lysander said. “Thought you knew better then to get wrapped up in my sibling’s whimsical ideas of arbitrary justice and faux equality. We were expecting you at the congregation, you know. There’s still time to redeem yourself.”

Karyme laughed dryly. “Nice try. I was put in the Assembly’s crosshairs the second I picked up Hermela and her tagalongs at the airport. And besides. Certain… things have come to light. Things I didn’t know about before.” She looked over at Menaket respectfully. “So no offense, Lysander. But I don’t think I’ll be taking you up on that offer any time soon.”

In response to this Lysander thrashed and writhed in a futile attempt to break his bonds. 

“I wouldn’t bother.” Dorian commented from his perched seat on the sink countertop. “That’s one inch steel‒ something-or-other, what was it called Sydney?”

“Steel carbon.” She said from the doorway.

“Yeah, steel carbon. There’s no way you’re getting out of there, not as weak as you are.”

“What do you hope to gain out of kidnapping me, mm?” Lysander hissed. “This changes nothing. Zhuang and Momoko are smarter than to fulfill any ransom you give them. So just go ahead and kill me, already. God knows you’re good at that.”

Dorian spluttered angrily. “Me? Killer? Look who’s talking! You‒ you massacred people  _ I cared about _ just to fulfill some petty vengeful quest to make your darling mother and father happy! God, they really had you under their thumb, didn’t they?” 

Lysander bristled. “I am under  _ nobody’s  _ thumb. It’s called loyalty to your blood, a concept  _ you  _ clearly don’t understand.”

“Then what about us?! We’re your family too! And you didn’t even think for a second to support me, support us, even after how  _ terrible  _ Godyth and Bernard had been to us our whole lives! They kidnapped us from humanity and lied to us so we would be just like them.”

“We are NOT family. We will NEVER be family. You have never respected our customs and ways of life, Dorian, never. Our traditions go back thousands of years, yet you’ve always treated our superior blood as an inconvenience!  _ We  _ are wolves among sheep!” 

Sydney snorted at his last sentiment, but the smile dropped off her face when she saw his livid glare. It probably would have been funny, seeing Lysander trussed up like some sort of construction site Christmas turkey, if it weren’t for the fact that she was sure that if he got free, she would be the first to die.

“And  _ what _ , exactly, is so funny to you, bloodbag?” He asked venomously.

“‘Wolves among sheep.’” Sydney’s mouth quirked. “That’s‒ that’s a myth. You know that right? You don’t actually believe you’re genetically superior to humanity just because you don’t need to sleep and can lift a piano by yourself?”

“I don’t need to  _ believe  _ something I already know was true. I am lucky that I had the chance to escape the squalor of humanity and rise to become something greater.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Sydney gestured to Menaket with her thumb, who was in the corner carefully unsealing two clay vessels. “Do you know who that is? That is the mother of all vampires. She created you, and your mother, and your mother’s mother. And  _ she  _ says your little superiority theory is full of shit.”

“That woman- that woman is a fugitive.” Lysander argued back. “I was told by the current council representatives to bring her back so they could punish her.” His brave words did not change the subtle, anxious shift in his eyes. 

“You can smell the air far better than I can. Her presence is stronger than Zhuang’s. You can’t lie to yourself.” When he didn’t respond, Sydney began to plead with him. “You  _ know  _ in your heart what I’m saying is true. And you may be an irredeemable, rancid, toxic individual who I hate with  _ every  _ cell of my body… but nobody deserves to be lied to about what they fundamentally are.”

“This is another trick!” Lysander snapped before Sydney could finish her speech. “Another one of your lies and manipulations!” 

He continued to rant and yell, struggling in his bonds. As he did so, Menaket and Hemela quietly prepped the bathroom, turning on the water and passing around shoulder-length rubber gloves, aprons, and full-face masks to everyone inside. Menaket dragged the vessels to the edge of the tub and gave them one final visual look-over.

“What are you doing?” Lysander stopped himself in the middle of his tirade, shrinking in on himself as water began to rise around his bound body.

“I’d say I hope this doesn’t hurt you,” Sydney said, “But I genuinely hope it does.” She paused, the bathroom silent save for the roaring faucet water. “We’re going to cure you of your vampirism.”  _ If it doesn’t kill you first. _

Initially, Lysander laughed, a big grin spreading across his pale, lightless face. His grin dropped when he looked at the people around him and realized none of them were joking. “That’s not possible.” He said softly, watching them don their gloves and masks to protect themselves from the cure. “That’s‒ there’s no such thing. Zhuang said there was  _ no such thing _ .” As the water rose higher, he grew more desperate. More human in his pleas. “Wait. Dorian. I’m sorry, just‒ please, you can’t let them do this to me.”

Dorian walked over to the doorway and quietly put an arm around Sydney’s back. Sydney knew it was more for his own comfort than hers. 

“Is the water ratio right?” Hermela asked Menaket in chinese, muffled by her mask. Menaket held her hand up, telling her to wait a few more seconds. They both held vessels at the ready. If this worked, every cell in Lysander’s body would spring to life, feeling pain and sensation for the first time in decades. It would also conveniently make him immune to ever being infected again.

“Dorian, please!” Lysander said brokenly. The water was so high he had to cough to keep it out of his mouth. “This is all I have! This is who I am! Don’t let them take this away from me!”  
The strain on Dorian’s face was becoming more and more pronounced. Taking initiative before he could damage his psyche further by staying and watching someone effectively get water tortured, Sydney pulled him out into the hallway, quickly striding away with him in tow. Moments after they left, the sound of liquid hitting water echoed out into the house, and then the screaming started. 

They were twisted, tortured cries of pain. Dorian’s arm stiffened under her grip. She steered them as far away as she could, to the opposite end of the house.

“Don’t listen, Dorian.” She said sternly.

“I hate his guts, I  _ hate his guts _ ,” Dorian was tripping over his own words. “But he’s still my brother. We traveled the world together. We saw so much‒ and he’s, he’s  _ choking  _ in there, he can’t  _ breath _ ‒”

Sydney crushed her tall boyfriend to her chest, pressing him into her as hard as she could and squeezing. After a moment of stiff surprise, Dorian burrowed into the comfort. He tucked his head into her shoulder, clutching handfuls of her shirt. It didn’t surprise her in the slightest when his shoulders started to shake; he was crying. 

“I thought I’d lost you.” Dorian said after a few minutes. His voice was muffled.

“When?” Sydney ran her fingers through his curly hair. She had missed the way it felt underneath her fingers. 

“The second you walked out that door.”After a moment, he sniffled and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes before laying a kiss on Sydney’s collarbone. “You and I, we need to talk. About everything. I‒ I don’t want any of those issues coming between us ever again.” 

“Finally, you’re making some sense.” Sydney murmured into his hair. She tilted his chin up so she could look him in the eyes. “I just… I just want to make one thing absolutely clear, alright? The only way we’ve  _ ever  _ worked together is because of honesty, and the only way we’re going to get to the future is by telling each other the truth: when we’re happy, when we’re sad, when something’s bothering us. No more hiding from me, okay?”

“Communication.” Dorian responded with a weak grin, tightening his bereaved grip on her shirt. “Got it.” They embraced again, both more relaxed now that the sound of pained screams had died. It was replaced with sounds of wet struggling before there was silence and a strained voice just out of earshot. 

“You can come back in now.” Karyme ambled slowly around the corner, carefully removing her soaked gloves and being mindful to not let the solution hit her skin. “It’s over.”

Sydney had to struggle to keep up as Dorian raced back to the bathroom. He ground to a halt just inside the door, frozen by the sight in front of him.

“I can’t‒ breath, I can’t‒ can’t breathe.” Lysander was struggling to get the words out, coughing up water with each shaky breath he tried to take in. The remaining vampires in the room were hurrying as fast as they could, working to peel back the rebar that was now crushing their blonde brother. And it was, in fact, actually crushing him. 

He was human. His cheeks were patchy and red from struggling, and his eyes were swollen and irritated from the water. He took enormous, wet breaths, as if he couldn’t get enough oxygen in his lungs. And he  _ shivered _ : he was cold. As soon as his body was free of its restraints he slumped forward over the bathtub wall. With a particularly hard, phlegm-filled cough, two small white objects flew out of his mouth and skittered across the floor, landing at Sydney’s feet. She picked one of them up apprehensively. It was a long, sharp tooth: his vampiric incisors had fallen out. 

“It… worked. He’s human.” Dorian said blankly, unable to take his eyes away from the sight. 

“Smells human, alright.” Hermela commented. She and the other women in the room held their arms stiffly away from their bodies: there was no room in the small bathroom to all safely remove their cure-soaked protective layer without splashing one another. “Sydney…” She turned to the only other human in the room and gestured to the towel rack. “Would you…?”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” She awkwardly grabbed a fluffy towel as the women shuffled out of the room. When she sidled over to the bath and tried to get Lysander out of it, he weakly shoved her away. There was no strength in his damp, shaking arm: it was like being pushed by a gust of spring wind. For once, Sydney realized, she was not the weakest one in the room. 

“Alright. Get out.” She said harshly. Without ceremony she locked her arms under his armpits and dragged him out of the tub, letting him fall in a wet pile of shivering limbs on the tile floor of the bathroom. She threw the towel on top of him haphazardly. “And dry yourself off. I’m not your maid.” 

Sydney waited for him to move for minutes. But all he did was sit in a pile on the ground, arms folded with his knees up to his chin, shivering and looking blankly at the wall opposite him with a vacant stare. All he had going for him in his life, all he had left to feel superior about, was his vampiric status. Now that he had lost that, it seemed as if he thought he truly had nothing. 

Dorian chose this moment to step in. “Alright, you bastard. Come on.” He picked his brother up like a sack of potatoes. “I’ll meet you all in the living room,” he said to Sydney, “after I figure out how to get him to start acting like a functional person.” 

Thirty minutes later Dorian and Lysander joined the group as they lounged on the many overstuffed couches and loveseats Karyme had collected over the years. Lysander slunk through the doorway, blankly sitting on the closest available seat and idly fussing with the collar of the outfit Dorian had bullied him into putting on. To Sydney, he looked dead to the world. His unearthly color and health were gone, replaced with a wan, tired-looking man with exhausted bags under his eyes. It seemed like someone had pulled all the energy and drive from his very being; like he was only alive because his heart continued to beat, not because he desired to be so. 

Sydney couldn’t bring herself to feel even a shred of sympathy for him. 

They all talked for what felt like hours, discussing Menaket’s history and the creationist mythos that Zhuang and the other original (now dead) Assembly members had perpetuated. They also all agreed to use no more than half a jar of the curative going forward: at least, not until they could get Menaket somewhere safe where she could germinate more. After all they only had about a jar and a half left of the stuff, after wasting two on curing Lysander. 

“Remind me why we did that, again? We should have just killed him where he stood.” Hermela said from her perch on the back of a sofa. The single basement window that let sun in at street level illuminated her hair with an amber halo. 

“I thought I explained this already. But then again, it’s getting a little hard for me to differentiate between internal thoughts and reality lately.” Sydney said, half-muffled under a blanket. It was 70 degrees in the house, and she was freezing. Constant exhaustion, mild sunstroke, and a lack of blood in one’s system tended to do that. “We all know that the Red Assembly is having an emergency congregation in Cairo tomorrow evening. Wish we learned about it  _ sooner _ , but it makes sense that the Assembly would stonewall us of as much information as possible: we’re lucky Karyme told us about it at all. Anyways…” She looked back at Dorian for support. He sat next to her and picked up her hand, squeezing it in his. “We want to crash the convention stage.”

The room broke out into several overlapping protests. “Wow!” Sofia said with a look of distinct disbelief in her eyes. “That might be the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.” 

Sydney pinched the bridge of her brow, tamping down a spike of irritation. Of  _ course  _ the first thing anyone would do is criticise her plan. “Well what other choice do we have?” She barked, quieting the room. “We fly home with a woman most of us can’t talk to, putting our future in the hands of a few musty old vessels and botanical knowledge from thousands of years ago?” She leaned forward from her seat, glaring out at the room. “Do you know what they’re gonna do at that congregation? They have  _ nothing  _ to talk about except for us.  _ We’re  _ the ones rocking the boat. They’re gonna rally their troops, double down on their beliefs. We’re gonna have over six thousand angry vampires rooting for our downfall, and I bet dollars to doughnuts they’re gonna have a helluva lot of volunteers for their cause. All we have, our best defense right now, is  _ information _ . We have to use it to our advantage.”

“Our kind aren’t going to be outraged by Zhuang keeping our history from us, or about the fact that our origin isn’t what we thought. They’re too blinded by their own politics of superiority and power to recognize they’re being manipulated.” Dorian continued for her, rubbing Sydney’s hand idly. “But they’ll be completely inflamed once they learn that there’s a cure for something they previously thought was incurable. Too many of us have resigned ourselves to the rules of our society because we thought there was no alternative. When they realize Zhuang hid that from them just to keep their numbers up, they’ll riot. And the best way to show that with proof…” His gaze slid over to the Red Assembly warrior slumped on the couch. Lysander had been in the public eye of vampiric society ever since he had joined and partially headed the Red Assembly’s war force. That sort of development did not go unobserved in a community of less than seven thousand: in fact, it was probably one of the most dramatic things they had observed in years. 

“We’ll bring them a human that they  _ all know _ was a vampire only days ago. It would be impossible to ignore that truth.” Sydney concluded. 

“Dear god.” Karyme said after the room fell into a contemplative silence. She smirked. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually think the human’s crazy plan has some merit to it. If we don’t get immediately recognized and black-bagged within the next few hours, anyway. Your faces  _ are  _ plastered all over our media streams. It’s the 21st century.”

“You can’t be serious!” Sofia responded, eyebrows practically at her hairline. “We don’t even know where the congregation  _ is _ !”

“I do.” Karyme deadpanned. “I was sent a letter a week ago: it’s at the Twin Star convention center and theatre in downtown Cairo. Of course, I was given this information before they knew I was going to jump ship.”

“Even so, we’d be dead within 100 meters of the building. Wherever it is will be a hotspot of defense, protection, and watchful eyes. Don’t you get it, Sydney?” She turned to her friend, worry and anxiety inscribed on her normally pleasant and smooth features. “It’s practically suicidal, especially for a human!”

Dorian’s grip on Sydney’s hand tightened. They hadn’t ever directly talked to the rest of the Ashdown family about Sydney’s bumpy mental past, but now Sofia had unintentionally stepped down on a landmine. Hard. 

“It’s not  _ suicidal _ , Sofia.” Sydney snapped. “You know what’s suicidal? Thinking we can fight seven thousand superhumans. Running away from here and hoping to buy a little bit of time after a little bit of time until we’re eventually cornered and killed off like vermin. This‒ this is  _ brave _ . I’d rather pull the disguise off the truth for  _ everyone  _ to see, instead of taking it and running, hoping to save my own skin.” She struggled to keep her throat from closing up with emotion. “But most of all, we  _ need  _ to do this. I want everyone to know. I want my friends‒ my  _ family  _ that were killed in Greenland, to not have died in vain. I want to do this so we have a  _ chance  _ at protecting the people we love. The people that depend on us. I will  _ not  _ have the story twisted any further.”

Sofia looked away, her jaw clenched tight. She couldn’t bring herself to fully agree, but damn if her friend didn’t make a good point. 

With a slow exhale, Sydney collected herself. With every word she found herself getting more and more tired. “And it won’t be impossible to get inside. We have someone who’s supposed to attend.” She turned expectantly to Lysander. 

For the first time in ages he lifted his head from his hunched position. He grinned in a deadened, sick sort of way. “Not a chance. I’d rather die than get you inside.”

“You won’t feel that way when I offer you a deal.”

“Nothing you could offer me could change my mind.”

“If you get us into the Twin Star convention floor‒  _ safely _ ‒ I can guarantee you will get changed back into a vampire.”

Lysander’s pessimistic head-shaking froze. Sofia opened her mouth to object, but quickly clacked it shut again when Sydney shot her a  _ shut up  _ glare.  _ Yes, we know that it’s impossible to get re-infected once you’ve been cured, Sofia. But Lysander doesn’t. _

“You’re lying.” Lysander said, so quiet she almost couldn’t hear him. 

“It would be a difficult process.” Sydney lied through her teeth. “Impossible, if you were to try and get changed by another vampire. But Menaket has  _ the  _ strongest blood in the entire world. She could give you back your power, your status… your meaning in life. But you’ll  _ never  _ get that if you don’t help us, or if any of us are killed.” 

The silence in the room was deafening. Their only viable plan of action hung on Sydney’s ability to bluff, and Lysander’s desperation to crawl back to his original state. 

Thank god a lifetime of telling everyone she was fine and acting like she was okay had made her a phenomenal liar. 

“Okay.” Lysander ran his hands down his face. “Okay, alright. There’s a convention center pass in my pants pocket: if you have a way to somehow transport us all into the parking garage without me being clocked as a… mortal, and you all being clocked as fugitives, then I can do it.”

“We can take my neighbor’s hatchback.” Karyme immediately jumped in. She sounded like she was genuinely ready to  _ do  _ this. “There’s a big storage basin that’s covered by a pull-over tarp. If you’re all willing to feel like sardines for an hour or two, nobody would be able to see us.”

“What about the smell?” Dorian piped up.

“I actually have a solution for that.” Hermela replied, putting her hands on her hips. 

The room began to dissolve into chatter once more as everyone began to work out the functional details of their event crash, throwing in suggestions and ideas. But everything sounded underwater to Sydney. Her brain seemed to have decided that it had reached the maximum capacity for anxiety-inducing conversations for the day; if she tried to do any more planning or thinking about the terrible, murderous threat they were up against, she would start tearing her hair out. 

“That’s my cue to leave.” She muttered under her breath, standing up. Of course, being in a room full of superhumans, everyone heard her. 

“Oh no you don’t.” Karyme chided. “We still have a  _ lot  _ of details to work out, and‒”

“Work it out yourself.” Sydney said in a grumbly, irritated tone. “I’m human, okay? I need to rest, unlike most of you. Look… my head is killing me. I just. I just need to not think about life or death emergencies for a few hours, okay? And the event isn’t until tomorrow evening. I’m sure you can manage by yourselves without my help.” With that she hurried out of the room before anyone could counter and try and drag her back into the middle of that mess of a conversation, making a beeline for Karyme’s guest room. Really, it was just a bedroom she had furnished and never bothered to use herself. 

It was beautiful, to her credit. Everything was swathed in creams interrupted by mellow jewel tones, the decorative pillows on the bed spilling over the duvet like gemstones. Twin lamps hung from the ceiling, made of simplistic and artful blown glass; they illuminated a wildly complex and rich Persian rug that dominated the wall opposite the door. 

Still in the doorway, Sydney let her shoulder slump as she shucked off her shoes. Those sheets were going to be a higher thread count than she had ever experienced in her life, she was sure of it. Someone politely knocked on the door frame: she whirled around, startled. In the dim hallway light stood Dorian, hands in his pockets and hair a curly, uncombed mess. Thanks to his supernatural state, he managed to make the ‘haven’t relaxed since my 20 hour flight’ look seem more wind-tousled and chic than manic and tired. Sometimes she forgot how stupidly pretty the man was.

Now that they were alone, and all other matters had been put aside for the meantime, it was like a switch had flipped inside of Sydney's body. The gravitational pull of the Earth seemed secondary to their pull towards each other. 

“Hi.” She said softly, pushing her shoes to the side. 

He flashed her that stunning, heart-melting smile. “Hey, Pippi.”

She couldn’t help it. She cracked a grin. “As in Longstocking? Haven’t heard that one since elementary school.” 

“Yeah, well, I had a lot of time to think of new ones on the trip over.” Dorian’s voice had taken on a rusty, low sort of quality, like he didn’t want anyone but her to hear him. He took another step closer to her, cupping her face in his hand. 

Sydney leaned into the touch; he felt so pleasantly cool. The simple contact sent a jolt down her spine. It had taken her this long to realize just how  _ damn much  _ she missed him, his stupid grin, and his goofy attitude. She fiddled with one of the buttons on his collar, if only as an excuse to graze her knuckles across his mid-tone skin. “Your shirt smells like cigarettes, you know. I’m guessing you’ve been running around with Hakim.”

“Caught in the act. I haven’t had a chance to change since I left for the airport: and you know my brother. Weirdly attached to chain smoking for someone who can’t even feel nicotine.”

Sydney was only half-listening. In the middle of all the stress, the fear, and the repeated attempts on her life, she had forgotten what it felt like to be so genuinely  _ attracted  _ to someone. And right now, the vampire across from her was looking dangerously appealing. She couldn’t keep her eyes away from the sweep of his long lashes, or the way his full lips moved as he spoke. With an idle ‘mm-hmm’ in response to his words, she let herself run a hand down his chest, feeling all the waves and shapes of his body. 

He let her take her fill of him, going motionless and only softly sighing when she wrapped an arm around his waist. His gaze slowly moved up her body, only to stop on the now very dusty patch of gauze on her neck. “Now what have you gone and done to yourself now?”

Sydney closed her eyes, mentally cringing. Dorian was kind and caring, but he was also… easily upset, especially concerning her well-being. Showing him the healing carnage that was her throat might ruin all of the delicious intimacy she had been distinctly lacking for days. Still, she let him gently pull the gauze off: at this point, it wasn’t something she could hide from him. 

He exhaled through his nose at the sight of the well-tended but still horrible-looking bite. It broke Sydney’s skin in an ugly fashion, tearing backwards towards the nape of her neck.

The stitches were precise and surgical, but they couldn’t disguise the gravity of the wound. He could only imagine the pain she had felt, the blood that came pulsing forth in waves from her soft human body. 

“Are they dead?” He rasped, struggling to keep a grip on his emotion. 

“Who?” Sydney asked back softly. 

“The person who did this to you. Because if they aren’t, I’ll hunt them to the ends of the Earth and kill them myself.” 

“Sofia threw them into a canyon. A deep canyon. Nobody could survive a fall like that.” She sighed as Dorian pressed a kiss to her jaw. “And you’d have to get in line, if they did survive. I’ve got dibs on beating them up.”

“My little firecracker.” Dorian replied admiringly, laying another kiss on her neck. He paused above her wound. “Does… does it still hurt?”

“No. I’m fine.”

He pulled back to look at her with one raised eyebrow. “You know, this whole ‘emotional honesty’ thing goes both ways.”

Sydney rolled her eyes, and pulled him closer to her by his hips. “Fine.” She muttered with a smile. “It’s stupidly painful. But I haven’t really had time to address that.” 

“Well, lucky for you...” his voice was so low she could feel it vibrate in her throat. “I happen to have a solution to that.” Dorian pressed kisses up and down her injury, the pain dwindling then fading. And then he was pressing a kiss to her lips and the weak dam that was restraining Sydney’s impulses broke. She was all over him. 

She dug her hands into his hair, curling him into her and barely even pausing to catch her breath. They moved like dancers, pressed together in joyous reunion.

Dorian laughed softly into their kiss. Before Sydney could even register what was happening she found herself rolled over onto her back, her lover looking down at her. “From now on, we talk things out.” He said, serious words ruined by the sweet smile on his lips. 

Sydney exhaled fully for the first time in what felt like decades. She had been able to fall asleep before Dorian got here, sure, but now she felt like she could really, truly,  _ rest _ . He brought with him a soft sort of safety that was hard to replicate. “Sounds good, Apollo.”

With a locked door between them and the rest of the universe, they felt safer than ever before. As long as they had each other, to have and to hold like this, everything else fell away and nothing in the endless, rolling cosmos could ever matter as much as their hands intertwined. 

* * *

The crook of Dorian’s naked shoulder was warm now. A comfortable place for Sydney to lay her head, curled up into his side. She was already half asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness. 

“I’ll let you sleep.” Dorian’s voice was hoarse as he pressed a kiss to her head. He moved to leave the bed as softly and unobtrusively as possible. 

Sydney wrapped an arm and a leg around him, trapping him underneath the sheets. “You’re not goin’ anywhere any time soon, slick.” 

He shook his head and smiled up at the dark ceiling of the room, now a dull grey with the faded moonlight coming in the narrow window. “I’m not the one who needs to sleep.”

“But I am. And I sleep better when you’re here.”

Now how could he argue with that? Dorian lapsed into silence, continuing to stare upward, thoughts beginning to slowly fill up his mind. As hard as Sydney was trying to fall back asleep, she could practically  _ hear  _ the cogs turning in his brain. 

“What are you thinking about?” She asked in a husky tone. Dorian said nothing. She poked him with her finger, right between the ribs where he was ticklish. “Come on, Euripides, it’s honesty hour.” 

“I just… I guess I don’t know why you’re still here.”

Sydney snorted. “I can’t exactly leave, can I? I’m kind of trapped in a country with a bunch of superhumans who think I’m disrupting the natural order of things.”

“No, that’s… that’s not what I meant. I meant I don’t get why you’re still…” He paused to run a hand through his curls. “...With me. After, like,  _ all  _ the things that have happened to you. After everything I’ve done.” He seemed to grow even colder under Sydney’s hands. “I should have just run from you in that alley. Then you wouldn’t be in this mess.” 

His little speech made Sydney sit up on her elbows. “Hey.” She said severely. “This? None of it was your fault. Turmoil… it was bound to happen sooner or later, with or without me. And my situation was out of your hands the  _ second  _ Hermela appeared on your doorstep: even before then, I’m glad you decided to tell me what you were. I can’t imagine how crazy it would have driven me, seeing what I had seen and not having any answers. Honestly, I probably would have sleuthed you out anyway.” Dorian opened his mouth again, but she put a hand over it before he could speak. “And as for  _ why  _ I haven’t disappeared and gone undercover like the fleeing refugees from Enhed… I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to abandon Sofia, or Hermela, or Hakim, not when they’re under this much fire. They’re my friends: I care about them. And I  _ especially  _ care about you. More than I think I’ve cared about anyone else before.” 

“Sweetheart, I was a  _ jackass  _ to you for a solid week. How can you just… brush that aside?” 

“Oh believe me, I’m not. Being in a relationship isn’t about ignoring the other people’s issues. It’s knowing that they have a source, and giving them a second chance to come clean about it. I hope... no, I know... you would do the exact same thing for me if we switched places.” She put her chin in her hand, staring at him from under a messy half-curtain of red hair. “So tell me. Why did you start acting like you hated me the second you told me you loved me?” 

It seemed to take Dorian a minute to collect his thoughts on this. Which was odd, for him: he always had something funny or quick-witted to say. But not this time. 

“I’ve never depended on anyone my whole life‒ or lives, I guess you could say. Nothing… ever tied me down.” He ran idle fingers across the skin of Sydney’s shoulder. “But then I realized  _ I loved you.  _ I don’t wanna go anywhere without you… I literally can’t picture doing _ anything _ without you. Suddenly, my whole life was dependent on someone. And that‒ that loss of freedom scared me. I suddenly needed to keep you at an arm's distance because you,  _ you _ , terrified me.”

“And as soon as you did that it was like someone had ripped my heart straight out of my chest.” Sydney replied softly. 

Dorian blinked in surprise, looking down at her. “What? Jesus, it was that bad? I thought you were just mad at me.”

“I absolutely was. But, Dorian… I’ve  _ lost  _ so many things in my life. And not quickly: I’ve had to watch them slip through my fingers like grains of sand. My college degree faded as my money dwindled, my relationship with my whole family just started dying with distance… and my happiness started withering away and I didn’t know  _ why _ . And suddenly you were doing the exact same thing, and I was horrified thinking about another thing I  _ loved  _ slowly disappearing from my life. It’s so easy for me to just be happy and comfortable around you. I couldn’t stand the idea of you fading: so I got angry instead.”

Dorian immediately began to laugh, covering his mouth with one hand and practically shaking the bed. Sydney frowned up at him and he had to look away, trying to collect himself. “Sorry, sorry.” He said between giggles. “It’s just… what a pair we are, huh? Afraid of the things we love, dancing around them like a bunch of idiots.” 

Sydney didn’t realize how much she missed that look of open happiness and humor on Dorian’s face. It made her heart swell the second he was just  _ happy  _ to exist around her; when was the last time she had seen that look? Somehow, against the odds of the endlessly repetitive pattern in her life of disappointment after disappointment, she had managed to find a person who was kind, and funny, and above all willing to listen and help and change. 

“Well,” she said matter-of-factly, “I guess we’ll just have to be idiots together, then.”

“I’ll be your court jester as long as you’ll have me.”

“I think I’ll have you forever.”

There was a featherlight kiss on Sydney’s forehead as she drifted off into sleep. “I love you.” Dorian whispered, brushing her hair out of her eyes. 

* * *

Karyme didn’t ever get the chance to beat the stuffing out of the second youngest Ashdown like she wanted to. He placed himself in front of Sydney's bedroom door like a stoic Queen’s Guard, arms crossed and daring anyone to make even a peep of noise while Sydney caught up on much-needed rest. At one point Karyme decided to put the television on in the living room and he was there in a flash, holding the power cord he had disconnected from the socket and shaking a finger at her.

He stayed like that for six hours, quietly guarding the peace and happiness of the woman he loved with a puppyish sense of loyalty. When his phone vibrated with a text from Hakim reading  _ ‘Touched down in Cairo w/ Naki & Devi, where r u’ _ , he only replied with the address of the safehouse and the cautionary words of ‘ _Be more careful than you have ever been in your life. More eyes than we thought_.’

Dorian leaned his head back against the bedroom door, stilling his breathing. The fear and pain in his heart surrounding Sydney had faded. But in its place, a sinister, more immediate worry lurked: the fear of losing her, and all her beautiful humanity, to the jaws of the monster they were about to enter in a desperate attempt to defeat it. 


	36. Book 2: Ch. 12

“Hakim!” Sofia squealed. The jet-lagged man and his companions had barely gotten into the living room of Karyme’s safehouse, still holding their luggage, when they were tackled. Sofia held her older brother in a vice-like hug, lifting him a few inches off the ground. “I missed you! How was the flight? Were you followed? Are you  _ positive  _ you weren’t followed? You didn’t make any payments with your credit card did you?”

Sydney held up a single hand in greeting from the dining table, still holding a spoon for her bowl of cereal. It was a hello that was much more Hakim’s speed: he wriggled one arm out from Sofia’s hug to give her a slight wave back. 

Of course, Sofia’s exuberance was nothing compared to Hermela’s. She practically stormed the door, sweeping Nakita up in a bridal hold and peppering kisses along her smaller girlfriend’s face. They giggled together, a sound that was as jarring coming from Hermela as a kitten’s mewl coming from a tiger. Karyme sat uncomfortably on the kitchen counter nearby, looking away. Yes, it had been literal decades since they had been together. And yes, it was still incredibly awkward. 

“You must be Menaket, then.” Deveraux said, setting down his small suitcase and putting a hand on Hakim’s lower back. He stared at the dark-skinned woman who sat across the room from all of them, looking mildly uncomfortable and out of place. She seemed to recognize her name, though, and gave a graceful nod. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Deveraux continued, “From Hakim and Dorian, of course. I hope I can get to know you personally in the future.” He leaned towards Sofia, eyebrows raised. “They weren’t kidding. I can smell her strength from across the room.” 

“She doesn’t speak English quite yet.” Hermela replied to her brother. “She is very well educated, though. Old dynasty Chinese works best, so if any of you…” She trailed off, as Hakim and Deveraux were already sitting on the loveseat opposite the mother of vampires, chattering away in Chinese. 

“Any trouble getting here, Nakita?” Dorian piped up from the dining table, an arm over Sydney's shoulders. “I hope it was at least a little easier than the girl’s ‘mad max’ post-plane experience.”

The Greenland native smiled, shaking her head. “No trouble. I know how to get places unseen: that is a talent that doesn’t change no matter where you go. I am glad, though, that you called us this morning and got us up to speed. I admit… all the revelations I have been subject to in the past few hours have been a lot to process.” She opened her mouth to continue, but froze, looking around the room. Suddenly she had her shoulders squared, looking defensive. “There’s a second heartbeat. We’re not alone in this house.”

Sydney clenched her jaw. Dorian hadn’t told them about Lysander yet; they both figured it wasn’t a conversation to be had over the phone. Now it looked like they were going to figure it out before they even had a chance to explain. 

Before Sydney could say anything about it, a very tired and clumsy Lysander stumbled around the corner, yawning. His old heightened senses had faded and his dull human ones no longer let him know that the living room was host to a whole fleet of people. It was only when he sat down at the dining table, rubbing sleep out of his sad eyes, that he realized what he had walked into the middle of. He nearly fell out of his chair.

“Dear god.” Hakim said, turning his head. “Is that… Lysander?” The sheer surprise and disbelief on his face was overwhelming. 

“He was our trial for the curative. He almost died from lack of oxygen at the end of the transformation,” Hermela said, arms crossed, looking at her tall brother with dismissive contempt, “But it worked. Now we have proof that our physical state is not final. And to top it all off… the congregation that the Assembly has been trying to not let us hear about? He has a way in.”

“It’s a trade, I’m not  _ helping  _ you.” Lysander said from his slouch. But even the usual venom in his voice was dulled with depression. “I’ll do whatever I need to… to get back.”

“We’ve spent enough time talking about our course of action.” Sydney said over Lysander’s poisonous bereavements. She’d been up since six in the morning, going over every detail of their stupid, impulsive, idiotic, self-sacrificial plan: if they didn’t act on it now, the danger of the plan itself might stop them from taking any action at all. It would be worth it if they had even a fraction of a chance of turning vampiric society against its ruling government. “Just call him, Lysander.”

“If you say anything that is even the  _ slightest  _ bit suspicious,” Sofia continued for her friend, tossing a burner phone at her brother, “I don’t pride myself on being a woman of violence but I  _ will  _ start breaking bones if you endanger my friends. And  _ now _ , you’ll feel it.”

Lysander’s hands clenched and unclenched, fighting between overwhelming hate for the people in this room and the intense desire to regain his status and power. Everyone was quietly staring at him now: the moment he made this call, the moment the ball would begin to roll and they would be forced into action. He picked up the plastic flip phone and snapped it open, punching in one of the many private and secretive numbers he had memorized the day he had volunteered to join the Assembly’s efforts.

The line only rang once before it was picked up. “To whoever is calling, I sincerely hope you have the right number because I am  _ incredibly  _ busy right now.” An Australian voice drifted through the room on speaker. Everyone tensed as the recognizable voice of Chase, the Assembly’s Australian chapter representative. 

_ I wonder if he’s in on Menaket’s cover-up _ , Sydney thought,  _ or if he’s just as in the dark as the rest of them.  _

“Chase. It’s me.” Lysander said. 

“Oh, how nice of you to call! Where the HELL are you, Ashdown? Do you know how much placating I’ve had to do for the other council members who want to know where you are? There are a lot of balls in the air right now that  _ I’m  _ trying to manage so you better have a  _ damn  _ good reason for not returning  _ or  _ checking in at the designated meeting time!” Chase was practically screaming into his phone, rage spewing from the speaker so hard that Lysander had to hold it at a distance.

The blonde vampire hesitated in his response, looking up at Sydney, who was now standing right next to him. She glared down at him, face tense and radiating a very specific message: do it exactly how you were told to. 

“I… I was incapacitated and couldn’t reply until now.” Lysander said eventually. “Your tip was correct, they were moving through Cairo and Karyme was aiding them. They also‒ they also had the woman that Zhuang told me to be scouting for.”

“Oh, good. And I assume you’re calling me  _ now  _ because you’ve removed the extremist threats and are returning with the woman?” Chase’s voice was syrupy sweet, bordering on extreme anger. 

“...There are more of them in the country than I was told. My crew and I… we were overpowered. I’ve only just now recovered from my injuries.”

There was a muffled, repeated banging on the other side of the line that sounded suspiciously like some repeatedly kicking a wall out of rage. “You mean to tell me,” Chase seethed, “that not only are you siblings out there doing  _ god knows what  _ in the same city that we are hosting our congregation in, but you failed to even  _ contain a single individual  _ when you had a team of trained killers at your disposal?” He swore loudly and repeatedly. “You know, Lysander, I  _ vouched for you _ . I was one of the people who insisted we bring you aboard, because  _ you knew  _ your family better than anyone. Because  _ you  _ seemed like a strong and capable individual. And who could say no to the blood child of one of Zhuang’s own blood daughters?” 

_ Is he talking about Godyth _ ? Sydney mouthed in shock to Dorian. Her boyfriend ground his teeth, but nodded. Sydney never knew that the Ashdown mother had been reborn because of Zhuang: that must have made her death even more significant. 

Lysander looked like he wanted to protest, to insist that it wasn’t his fault, but that train of thought was quickly shut down by Deveraux quietly placing a threatening hand on his shoulder. “I… I had to feed to recover. But I can still attend the conference.”

“You better damn well attend the conference!” Chase hissed. “Then, once it’s over and we’ve rallied our community, we’ll decide what your punishment will be for failing so  _ miserably. _ ” He exhaled, calming himself down. “On the bright side, none of our eyes have been triggered at the airports and central docks. I believe your family is still in Egypt. We still have time to find them: they’re close, I can feel it.”

_ You have no idea _ , Lysander thought. “I might be a bit late. I have some evidence cleanup to attend to.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just park in the private garage and head to the auditorium as fast as you can. Zhuang’s speech starts at 9pm and the place is gonna be packed: I didn’t think we’d have over five thousand attendees on such short notice, but here we are.” 

“Yes sir.”

“Oh, and Lysander.”

“...Yes?”

“Do try not to horribly butcher any more plans between now and tonight, alright?” Chase hung up with a brusque click, the line going dead. The silence in the room was deafening: it had felt like eons since any of them had heard Chase’s voice… and the time that they had had brought back unpleasant memories. 

“Well.” Hakim said, taking his hands out of his pockets and clapping them together. “Karyme, now’s about the time you show us where you keep all your guns.”

* * *

Chase tucked his phone into his pocket, massaging his temples and trying to get his thoughts in order as he strode through the lobby. Two of the enormous twin hotels that framed the convention center between them had been completely rented out for the weekend and closed to anyone who wasn’t a registered attendee. To the public, however, the tinted front windows with papers plastered over them indicated that the whole facility was just undergoing renovations to their air ventilation system. 

A short vampire hurried up to Chase with a clipboard and pen, holding it out to him. He signed it and shoved it back at them, continuing forward. The past few days had been like this: coordinating transport shuttles, organizing details for housing over 5000 vampires, negotiating with tech rental companies for their convention hall sound needs, anonymously kidnapping a bus full of tourists to provide complimentary drinks for attendees. The list seemed endless, even with working the full 24 hours of each day. 

Already the hotel rooms were almost fully filled up, their occupants milling around the upper floors and socializing‒ no,  _ gossiping _ ‒ with one another. As much as he wished it wasn’t the case, Chase knew exactly what most of them were talking about. He could hear it. There wasn’t an enormous amount of drama in the community of immortals: usually the biggest thing to ever happen each year was someone getting themselves killed because due to their own hubris. But now‒ now  _ everyone  _ was talking about tragic murder of one of the many old blood families in their society. About society of copacetic vampires and humans that had been living under their noses for decades. About the Red Assembly’s seeming inability to stop a small group of rebellious extremists. Whispers and slowly increasing doubts about the power their authority wielded trickled through the dark halls of the building: it set Chase’s teeth on edge. 

And to top it all, Zhuang  _ still  _ wasn’t back from his private expedition out into the desert: an outing he hadn’t justified to anyone. It made everyone on the council nervous, but who were they to contest the ideas and processes of the man who gave them all the gifts they had in the first place?

Lost in thought, he ran face-first into a very severe looking woman in a fitted business suit and heels, her ornately braided down her back. Momoko glared down at the Australian vampire, intentionally clearing her throat. 

“You look sour, Chase.” She said calmly. “I’m assuming my initial prediction was right and Lysander has once again failed to succeed on any and all levels?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Chase groaned. “I already lost a dispatch team: I think we may have been underestimating the tenacity of his siblings. They’re walking the wrong path in life, obviously, but they’re walking it swiftly. Something needs to be done.”

“Hence the congregation.” Momoko nodded sagely. “We  _ must  _ unify as a community to prevent ourselves from dissolving into chaos. Our beliefs, our  _ laws _ ‒ they are the only things standing between us being strong together, and different blood families warring over land and territory. If we don’t have our truths, we have nothing.”

Chase agreed with a hearty bounce of his head. Sometimes it was easy for bored immortals to get caught up in the gossip and drama of their kinfolk, but they had to remember the fundamental truth they had been taught since the beginning of their time on earth: they were, above all else, superior to humanity and must conduct themselves as such. “Speaking of truths…” Chase hazarded, “Do you… happen to know where Zhuang went?”

“The Gilf Kebir.” Momoko side-eyed her fellow council member. “But it’s not our place to question his actions. He has led us this far as a society: I’m sure whatever he’s doing is as important as it is private.”

“Of course, of course.” Chase looked like he had something else to say, but he was approached by a man with tight cornrows and a rather severe look in his eyes, tapping the watch on his wrist. “Oh, that’s right. The airport shuttles are scheduled to arrive any minute‒ I should go.”

“You do that.” Momoko said, already looking down at her phone. “I’ll send some of our remaining scouters out to scour the city and watch the district perimeter. It’s a long shot, but at least we’ll have more eyes out there to watch for Ashdowns.”

The two vampires nodded as they parted ways, both equally as tense and intent on hiding how stressed, tired, and worried they were. 

Unbeknownst to them, the leader that they unquestionably looked up to was currently standing in a stone tomb far underground, seething and raging at the sight of an empty stone coffin and a shattered, ruined vessel of the very material he had hoped to keep secret and unused for eternity. 


	37. Book 2: Ch. 13

They were all crammed like sardines in the back of the Honda hatchback. The passenger seats were cleverly lifted just a fraction, the majority of their skeleton hollowed out to allow for more room. Everyone was squashed together underneath the trunk cover: and despite the AC being on full blast Sydney was sweating bullets. That may have had more to do with the situation they were in than the oppressive heat.

The car, piloted by Lysander, was headed straight for the looming convention center on the edge of town. Inside of the massive building would be thousands of vampires that she‒ with only two people for evidence‒ would have to convince were being lied to on a fundamental level by the people they thought were their leaders. Even the sun, sinking over the horizon and relenting its fiery glare, could not bring her comfort now. 

“Can you  _ please  _ not mess with that more than you have to?” Sydney said from her position pressed flat against one of the car’s walls. She looked pointedly at Karyme, who was double and triple checking the magazine on her handgun. That was a big chunk of their plan, really: how else were they going to be able to command the attention of a room full of immortals for long enough without being overwhelmed by guards? Each bullet had been carefully coated in a thin layer of curative by Sydney herself, as she was the only one who would be able to willingly touch the stuff. Lysander refused: just looking at the stuff drained the color from his face. 

“She’s right.” Hakim said, knees draw up to his chest. “Keep the safety on until we’re parked.” He patted his own gun, tucked into the pocket of his pants. “We only have two clips each; we don’t want to risk anything.”

The other armed vampires all nodded. 

“And don’t forget‒” Hermela said pointedly loud enough for Lysander to hear all the way in the front, “If Lysander says anything even  _ slightly  _ suspicious, I’ll know. And I promise you, bullets do a lot more damage to human bodies than superhuman ones.”

Her sentence made Dorian quietly angle his weapon a little further away from Sydney. 

Sydney saw, but she found that unlike in the past, the action didn’t strike fear through her. In all likelihood, they were headed to their deaths right now: so why didn’t she feel at all terrified? In the past she would have attributed it to her depression and her carelessly tossing her life to the wind at a moment’s notice. But that wasn’t the case now. She  _ wanted,  _ no‒  _ needed  _ to stay alive. But finally, for the first time in her life, her worries weren’t based on selfish issues: she was doing this to  _ protect  _ other people. And she would move mountains if others needed her to.

She turned to Dorian, her head a lot more clear and a lot more focused than it had ever been before. God, she really loved this man. His courage, his kindness and willingness to listen‒ that was one of the big reasons she was willing to put herself in front of a metaphorical firing squad. “Hey.” She said quietly, garnering his attention. “If we make it out of here… if we end up somehow actually making a difference… what do you wanna do when we’re home?”

He mulled over the question in silence for a second. “I want to take you to the best little waterfront bar I know about, near the wharf. And I want to just walk‒ not go anywhere specific, just walk‒ through Chinatown with you at night. The lights, Sydney, have you seen them at night? They’re stunning.”

Sydney blushed softly at the thought of such genuine, tender moments. A real date instead of running from the law or escaping a kidnapping? Yeah. She’d like that too. “That’s sweet, really. But I meant like… what do you want to do for  _ yourself _ ?” 

Dorian blinked a few times, the question confusing him. He cracked a small smile. “I wanna be with you. For as long as possible.” When Sydney turned his jaw to kiss him he laughed, chuckling even more when Hermela made a gagging noise. “But I’m sensing you want to be asked that question too. What do you want, if we get out of all this?” 

“Oh, I’m going back to school. I don’t know how I’m going to pay for it, or where I’m going to go, but I’ll be damned if I don’t finish out my bachelor’s.” Her mind flashed back to all those months in and out of school, trying to scrape together enough money from her job at the delicatessen to take even one semester. “Actually… a dream of mine has always been to go with  _ you _ . There is something just crazy romantic about the idea of, I dunno, maybe renting an apartment together? Going to campus each day? Couples study days in the library?” 

Dorian sucked in air through his teeth just as Sofia burst into laughter, trying to hide her mouth behind her hand. 

“What?” Sydney’s eyes narrowed. “What’s so funny?” 

“Dorian hasn’t even finished high school.” Hakim deadpanned. 

Before Sydney could open her mouth, looking utterly aghast, Dorian leapt to defend himself. “Hey! It’s not like I’m a dropout! I’ve been to college classes before!”

“Yeah,” Hakim deadpanned, “But you’ve never  _ registered  _ for them. How many years have you been sneaking into philosophical lecture halls, hmm? Thirty? Forty?”

Dorian looked even more offended. “When I was school-aged we didn’t even have mandatory attendance laws! And then when the great depression hit, I couldn’t have gone to school even if I wanted to. Besides, the educational system was not  _ nearly  _ as stellar or comprehensive as it is today.” He stared at Sydney apprehensively, who had gone oddly silent. “I really hope that doesn't get you angry. I just-”

“Angry? I’m the opposite!” Sydney burst into a bright grin. “You know what this means? You’re coming to college with me and you’re getting your GED! Oh, this is going to be so fun,” she started to babble, listing off things on her fingers, “I can help you study English comprehension, we can get you into a crash course for mathematics and algebra, we can do prep for your mandatory language unit…” 

Dorian turned to his siblings with a  _ kill me now  _ expression scribbled all over his face as his girlfriend continued to chatter away in the background. 

Hakim put his hands up. “Hey, don’t look at me, prettyboy. This is on you. I’ve already got my art history doctorate. You just decided you’d rather go to nightclubs than a legitimate night school.” 

“Can we stop chattering? We’re two blocks away. I don’t want to risk anything.” Hermela ground out as the car rolled to a stop at a street light, then started forward again. 

The vehicle fell silent in the back, everyone looking at one another. If they were found, this might very well be the last time they were all sat together. Alive. Safe. Happy. Dorian rested his head on Sydney’s shoulder, just enjoying the heat coming from her body and the rhythm of her heart. He really hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he got to see her freckled face not marred with pain. Maybe if he was a better man, a stronger man, he would have insisted that she stay behind, that he wasn’t willing to risk her safety. But she had him wrapped around her finger, and she knew it. Anywhere she wanted to go, he would follow her: be it to something as simple as a college campus, or as dangerous as a vampire hotspot in the middle of a foreign country. 

* * *

The hotels were equally towering and elegant. Just looking at the windows and the edge molding, you knew that even a night there would be obscenely expensive. It was the perfect place for thousands of people with hundreds of years of savings to flock to on short-term notice. So when Lysander pulled around the back of the building to the private parking lot underneath, the dinged-up hatchback looked unmistakably out of place amidst the many luxury cars. 

Sydney just prayed their precautions were good enough to just get them past the gate guard and into the facility itself. Paying a parking fee normally only took a few seconds, but they were a few seconds that everything hinged on. 

The hatchback rolled up to the parking garage gate, bass thumping through the speakers. It was just loud enough to disguise the rapid heartbeat and uncontrollable human breathing of both Lysander and Sydney. The guard, unmistakably another vampire, knocked on the driver’s window. Lysander rolled it down slowly, evening light reflecting off his tinted sunglasses. Thank god for Karyme and her extensive collection of eyewear that could pass for fashion, but in reality was hiding the puffy, bloodshot eyes of a sleep-deprived human. 

“Identification, please.” The guard said, one hand scrolling through a digital catalog of name after name. An invite list. 

“Here.” Lysander’s single word came off as cool and uncaring: it was taking all his concentration for it to remain that way. He handed the guard his license, but upon receiving a disapproving glare, rolled the window down the rest of the way. It revealed his shirt, which was absolutely drenched with human blood. 

“You reek of humanity, Ashdown.” The guard said, referencing his list of names. “And you’re late. Are you going in looking like that?”

In the back of the car, Sydney had a hand clapped over her mouth, listening to the scattered words and phrases over the music. It had been truly disgusting, sloshing that bag of donor blood all over Lysander: it reminded her of the snowy massacre. In fact, it reminded her so strongly that Dorian had to lunge over the couch and stop her fist from breaking his brother’s nose, lest it ruin their plan. 

“I have had an incredibly difficult last 24 hours.” Lysander said severely, readjusting his sunglasses with a smooth, intentionally vampiric motion. “I had to stop for a snack. Can you blame me? I mean, this congregation was  _ so  _ short notice.”

After a moment of terse silence, the guard’s mouth quirked almost undetectably. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He sideyed the security camera in the corner of the booth, turning his face away from it. “I had to fly all the way out from Quebec with only a  _ three day notice _ . The only available flight had two layovers and was in economy class. I was crammed between two  _ reeking  _ bloodbags for hours.” 

“Ugh. Revolting.” Lysander replied. He could feel a single bead of sweat dripping down the side of his temple: he surreptitiously turned slightly at an angle to hide the human identifier. “And all that to only be put on guard duty and miss the whole seminar?”

“Oh, no.” The guard tapped a single wireless headphone tucked into his ear. “I’m listening in. You better get in and get parked if you don’t want to miss Zhuang’s official speech. I heard that he’s going to discussing the murders of- oh. Sorry. I suppose that’s quite close to you.”

Lysander had to bite the tip of his tongue to not let his breathing or heart rate jump in anger. “Yes.” He said stiffly. 

Finally, after what felt like millions of years, the security gate opened and they were motioned through as Lysander closed his window. As dark as it was in the back of the car already, it seemed to get even darker as they went underground and the fading sunlight was replaced with weak fluorescents. The car parked with a jolt and Dorian made to tear the trunk cover off, but was quickly stopped by Hermela. She crouched, silent as a stone, listening to the garage around them. Only when she was absolutely certain that it was empty did she throw the cover off and wrench the trunk door open with her supernatural strength. 

Lysander was already standing outside of it, looking shifty and jumpy without his usual heightened senses. “Okay.” He said shortly as person after person unfolded from the back of the car. “I got you in. We’re here. Karyme’s been here before, she knows how to get to the hall theatre. Our agreement is fulfilled: change me.” 

“Lysander, we still need you. You’re our proof of a cure.” Sydney countered.

“I don’t  _ care  _ about your proof or your cure. Our deal is  _ done _ . Change me back. Now.”

With a sigh, Sydney glanced at Hermela, handing her the conversational baton. This was _not_ a conversation she wanted to have.

“Lysander…” Hermela said. Her fists tightened at her sides. She hated the man’s guts, sure. But the way they had all collectively lied to him, given him hope for something unachievable, something he hung all his importance in life on? That was intentionally cruel. “Once it’s been purged from your system, you… you can’t be turned back. Your body is immune to the blood. Nobody can change you back. Not even Menaket.”

The pupils in Lysander’s eyes shrank to a pinprick even during his dismissive scoff. Her words had terrified him. “You’re lying. You promised me.” 

“I’m not lying. I’m… I’m so sorry” 

“No. You have to be lying. You promised me.  _ You promised me! _ ” His tone rose to a feverish shriek and he made an attack on his sister. But his new limbs were weaker than he expected, and he barely brushed the hem of her shirt before he was struggling in vain against the grip of Hakim’s arms. Defeated, angry tears welled in his eyes, marring his face. “You promised! You promised me!” He broke down, inconsolable. 

“We need to show you to everybody.” Sydney said tightly. “It’s the only way.”

“You can’t. Please.” He begged. “I don’t want them to know what I’ve become. How  _ weak  _ I am now that I’ve been dragged back down into the dredges of humanity.” 

“You haven’t been  _ dragged  _ into anything. God, even after all this time, after all the explaining, you still don’t get it? You were  _ always  _ human, Lysander. Every vampire is. All we’ve done is pull you from the stasis your body has been in for hundreds of years. You were never  _ special,  _ or  _ godly _ : You were just a person on pause. All the superiority you’ve been taught is a lie.” Sydney turned to nod at Karyme. “Come on. You take the lead: we only have a few minutes to use the maintenance tunnels to get to the stage.” 

“Nobody else is going to believe you. Or believe her.” Lysander hissed as he was frog-marched with the group towards an out-of-the-way metal door that Hakim promptly snapped the lock off of with his bare hands. “You seriously think dragging me onstage will change eons of our culture?” 

“No.” Sydney replied, shutting the door behind them. “I just want to put one tiny hole in the dam and show everyone their leader and supposed founder has been withholding a way _out_ of this lifestyle. Hopefully, the dominos will just keep falling after that.” 

“You’ll be killed on sight.” Lysander snarled, voice echoing in the pipe-lined cement tunnel. Hakim clamped a hand over the blonde's mouth.

If the threat startled Sydney, she did not not show it. Her footsteps did not waver as she trailed behind Karyme through the twists and turns of the underbelly of the convention center. “Maybe. But at least I’ll have died trying to protect the truth.”

“Can you guys be quiet?” Karyme said, walking backwards ahead of them and glaring at the group, unlatching the safety on her weapon. “I can’t hear any-”

She grunted and stopped: she had backed directly into someone who was coming around the corner, down a narrow flight of concrete stairs. It was an immortal. South American, judging by the flag pin on his lapel, and holding a ring of car keys in one hand. He immediately opened his mouth to scream out an alarm, but Karyme brought the gun down on his temple before he got the chance. She shoved a discarded screwdriver through his eye socket and into his brain before standing back up, wiping coagulated blood off her cheek. “ _ That’s  _ why. I can’t hear anybody coming with you yammering like that. We’re only a few turns away from the storage area under the stage, so shut up, okay?”

Sure, Sydney’s hadn’t been too scared before. It was easy for her to see the big picture, to be willing to sacrifice herself. But now she  _ knew  _ she was in immediate proximity to thousands of superhuman people who thought themselves monsters, above the laws and morals of humanity. People who wouldn’t hesitate to pop her like a person-sized gusher. People that she had to convince to turn against their whole political system. Her heartbeat skyrocketed, palms growing slick with sweat and stomach growing acidic from fear.

Dorian could practically feel her pulse in the air, it was so strong. He snuck his hand into hers and relished the sensation of her heart rate immediately slowly down a bit. She squeezed him back, running a thumb over his palm. At least if they were both doomed to die in minutes, they’d do it as a team, just like with everything else. 

The group approached a door that read ‘Costuming and Storage’ on an old metal plate. 

Karyme touched it with the tips of her fingers, a wistful smile on her face. “I used to sneak down these back tunnels all the time so I could sit underneath the stage and listen to the orchestra.” She blinked, coming back to the current time. “Once we’re past here, we make  _ no noise  _ until we reach the backstage hatch. Then it’s a racing game to get to the forefront of the stage, and get an armed perimeter around us so they can’t pick us off immediately. We’ll… we’ll probably only have a minute or two before they decide that the death of a few guards is worth getting us out of the public eye. I hope you’re all ready for that.” 

_ Oh this is incredibly stupid. I should be home right now. I should be hiding in the mountains of Canada right now and not running straight into the place full of people wanting to kill me. This is so dumb. I am such an idiot. I need to- _

Menaket put a hand on Sydney’s shoulder, almost seeming to know exactly what she was thinking without hearing any of it. She gazed down at her with her endless, warm, rich brown eyes, and smiled. 

With a shaky laugh, Sydney returned the smile. No words had to be said, because she already knew Menaket was right: she had to have a little faith in all of them. And even if it didn’t pay off, it was worth it just to try. Just as she reached for the door, Hakim leaned forward and stilled her hand. 

“Wait. Before we go, there’s one last thing I have to do.” Without hesitation or explaining himself, he turned on his heel, grabbed Deveraux by the shoulders, and dipped him into a deep kiss. 

“Oh my god, everything makes sense now.” Dorian said, linking his hands behind his head, pieces of a puzzle visibly connecting in his mind. “Okay, okay, enough necking. Save it for after we get out of here.”  _ If we get out of here _ . The unspoken words rung clear in the air. 

Deveraux straightened his lapel and nodded, a look of grim understanding crossing his mustached face. As Sydney slowly opened the heavy metal door, they stepped into the darkness of the room ahead of them and all accepted whatever fate lay above them in the form of thousands of angry eyes. 


	38. Book 2: Ch. 14

The air was so dusty under the stage that everyone could feel the particles swirling in their lungs with every inhale. Sydney struggled to not cough in the complete darkness. There wasn’t a single light on, but based on the slim sliver of light from under the door, the place was  _ packed  _ with racks of costumes and boxes of material to trip on. 

She didn’t even have to whisper to Dorian that she needed help: he had already put her hand on his shoulder, leading her around the obstacles with his extraordinarily good eyesight. Almost undetectable shuffles permeated the air around them as their family members slunk through the shadows. If she listened hard enough, Sydney could hear the faint, muffled sound of someone talking through a microphone in the massive theatre above her head. At the end of the room, several tiny shafts of faint light shot down from a trapdoor. It was there, just like Karyme said it would be this morning as they were preparing. 

In the faint, flickering light she saw Hakim motion. Soft clicks surrounded her: the simultaneous disengagement of several safeties on handguns. People were going to die tonight, no matter how hard they tried to avoid it. 

Hermela’s finger’s went down one by one under a single beam of light. Five.  _ No _ . Four.  _ I’m not ready.  _ Three.  _ It’s not too late to leave.  _ Two.  _ I’m scared.  _ One.  _ I’m ready.  _

The breach was loud, disorienting. The Ashdowns moved around her faster than she had ever seen before, hauling her up the stairs and slamming open the door, spilling into the back of the stage. It was a narrow mess of ropes, pulleys, unused light rigs, and shadow. Immediately two stagehands were on them and Sofia was engaging with both of them. The rest of them didn’t even stop to help, and kept rushing toward the front: they had seconds to set up before they were overwhelmed. 

Sydney heard the collective, rumbling gasp of a gigantic theatre filled with thousands of people before she saw it. They burst out from behind the curtains, skidding out onto the stage. There, in the dead center of it and addressing a microphone, was a vampire with a long sheet of grey-peppered hair and a carefully braided beard. He looked at them as if they weren’t real, and then his eyes landed on Menaket and his face morphed into a mask of horror and fear. 

They charged forward, weapons hot. Zhuang leapt off the stage in one swift motion, landing just as two guards vaulted up onto the main platform, more running down the aisles. Now the audience was roaring: Sydney could barely make them out through the bright lights shining into her eyes, and the sweat that dripped over her brow. She kept a tight grip on Lysander, yanking him backwards as he made to also fling himself offstage. 

Before the first guard could even fully stand, Dorian grounded his footing, leveled his gun with his eyesight, and fired straight and true. The bullet tore through the guard’s chest, straight through his heart, and slammed into the floor behind him. This didn’t seem to discourage the second guard in the slightest until she realized that her partner wasn’t getting up. She glanced back at him, flinching in utter surprise at the sight of his lifeless, bleeding body laying sprawled on the theatre floor. 

“Nobody moves a goddamn muscle!” Hakim roared out into the crowd. “It  _ will  _ kill you, too.” He said to the guard, who was only feet from him. He gestured very slightly with his gun and she reflexively stepped away, wide-eyed, crouching on the edge of the stage. Sensing an opening, the other Ashdowns and Karyme raced to encircle the two vulnerable humans, and the mother of all vampires. 

By now, the crowd was utterly seething. Vampires were standing up in the darkness, shouting: clearly they knew all of them. Zhuang had had a few minutes to talk before they had gotten there. Who knew what he had said about them. Dorian saw the anger on each and every face, and knew they had seconds to get them to listen before they were indiscriminately mobbed. 

The world was slow as molasses around Sydney, and the stage lights blinded her. The sounds turned to a dull roar in her ears, everything crawling at a snail’s pace: save for her heart. Her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest just for the sake of escaping the overwhelming panic that was crashing down on her. 

_ She hid behind the curtain on the edge of her high school’s stage. The crowd politely clapped in the distance as the man handing out the end of the year awards beckoned her over with a smile on his face. She shrank further back behind the curtain, heart hammering.  _

_ “What’s the problem, sweetheart?” Her dad said from behind her. She was just a freshman; that was his excuse for standing with his daughter while she waited for her award of academic excellence, anyway. “Don’t you want that award? It’ll look great on your resume.” _

_ “I do.” Sydney said shakily, knees practically knocking together. She clutched the hem of her dress with bitten nails. “But… all those people. What if I get out there and something totally embarrassing happens?”  _

_ “Listen, pumpkin.” Her dad grabbed her by the shoulders, looking her sternly in the eye. His tough guy act was ruined by the paternal smile on his face. “You know what the worst possible thing that could happen to you out there is? You trip and break your neck. Even that even dying it ain’t that embarrassing, is it? You won’t even be around to see it!”  _

_ Sydney laughed at the macabre joke, a small smile breaking through her terse expression.  _

_ “So what if you make a fool of yourself onstage? You’re the one getting the awesome award: you could walk out there like a t-rex and you’d still have done better than everyone else watching in the audience. They can all suck it.”  _

Sydney’s eyes snapped open. She forcefully dragged Lysander to the near front of the stage, and started speaking loudly into the microphone in a hurried, forceful tone. “Everyone in this room can regenerate from a bullet,” she started out over the angry hum of protests, “except for me. I’m human. So why was it that  _ that guard  _ just died from a single round to the chest? How can something as simple as a bullet kill a vampire? It  _ can’t _ . It can only kill a human.” With that she thrust Lysander into center stage and shoved his sleeve up. 

The crowd grew incrementally quieter. It was undeniable: they recognized Lysander. How couldn’t they? His face, and all the other Ashdown faces, had been plastered all over their notifications and news sources for  _ months _ . He was one of the many bloodchildren of Godyth. A vampire to the core. 

“This is an immortal, right? Lysander Ashdown.” Sydney said, shaking Lysander by the shoulder. He dully took it, looking catatonic in the spotlight. “Then why-” with one quick motion she cut a long, shallow line in his forearm with a pocketknife, “isn’t he  _ healing _ ?” 

If she had thought the audience had quieted before, they were dead silent now. Zhuang was initially storming for the exit, but he had paused, eyes locked on Lysander. He mouthed a silent swear. Thousands of gazes the vampires onstage included were locked on the fresh rivulets of crimson that were trailing down the blonde’s lifted arm.

“It’s because he’s been  _ cured _ .” Sydney’s words seemed to echo through the auditorium with more power than any microphone could give her before. “That’s why there’s a dead vampire right here, right now. That bullet it was coated in the curative. It turned his heart  _ human _ , and when it was starved of oxygen and unable to heal, it killed him. A cure exists. It’s always existed.” 

She extended a single pointer finger, pointing to the lone figure who stood in front of the theatre doors. Illuminated in the light of stage, her skin alabaster and her expression vindictive, Dorian could think of nothing but an old oil painting he had once seen: Truth, in all her glory, emerging from the abyss to turn her mirror upon humanity’s misdeeds. Sydney's red hair surrounded her head like a halo, an aura or righteousness he had never seen before.

“There is the man who does not want you to know about it. The man who has been hiding it from you for  _ centuries _ . When he found out we knew about it, he tried to have us killed so we couldn’t spread the truth.”  _ Not the truth, but not exactly a lie either _ . “Not only has he hidden the cure from you, he has lied to you about  _ everything _ : Your origin, your power, your very being.” Sydney clenched her jaw, not allowing herself to speak more. The people in this room had their ideals so tightly wrapped around the normalization of murder and superiority: they would not be open to a diatribe on their fabricated culture of violence. They had to stick to discussing the cure. That would be all they would actually be angry about. “Will you give us even just a few moments to prove that this is  _ true _ , that we are here only to give you the truth you deserve?”

The dead silence would have to suffice as a yes. She dragged Lysander to the side, jerking her head to Hermela. She and Menaket approached the microphone: Menaket was staring daggers at Zhuang with open animosity, even from half a dozen yards away. 

As they moved to the speaking area, Chase darted up the stairs on the side of the stage in a blur, hoping to catch them off-guard. Dorian stopped him with the barrel of his gun pressed directly to the center of his forehead. The Australian froze in his tracks, unable to move: he didn’t want to bet his life on his hands being faster than Dorian’s trigger finger. 

“This is the  _ true  _ mother of vampires.” Hermela said, gesturing to Menaket. A ripple of disbelief and anger rolled through the crowd. “Oh come on, don’t lie to yourselves now!” She continued angrily. “You can smell the strength, the  _ power  _ in her blood, just as well as you can smell Lysander’s humanity. Face it. She radiates more of the scent than Zhuang ever has and you know  _ exactly  _ why that is.” 

She paused to murmur to Menaket, then turned back to address the audience. “I will translate for her, but I  _ know  _ many of you have mastery of older Chinese dialects, so you know my words are true.” 

As Menaket launched into her hurried, rushed version of her story, it was like a spell had fallen over the thousands of faces in the audience. Even the remaining Assembly guards had slowed, eyes wide and gaze locked on her as she described her fateful meeting with Zhuang. The details his trip through the lands of Egypt lined up all too familiarly with his story of how he discovered the gift of vampirism on his escapades across the world. 

But even as Menaket held the audience spellbound and awestruck, they were slowly being encircled, surrounded, forced back inch by inch by Assembly members that would be loyal to their court no matter what anyone said. Hakim’s shoe squeaked on the polished wood as he slid back another centimeter, shifted his gaze and gunpoint between three different targets. He wasn’t fast enough to get all of them. 

“Now you know. Now you  _ know  _ the truth. The real, honest truth: not the version you, or your bloodparents, or  _ their blood _ parents were taught.” Sydney stood her ground as Menaket finished her story, speaking as the protests and sounds of dismay began to rise once more. “The Red Assembly has kept the cure for your condition from you all this time, because without it, you have  _ no choice  _ but to follow them.” 

At that notion, the audience burst into protests and loud, unintelligible yelling. In the far back, one hand on the door handle, Zhuang’s lips curled into a cat-like grin at the sight of the animosity aimed toward the stage. People and vampires alike don’t like to be called wrong: but more than that, they can’t tolerate the notion that they were foolish enough to believe a lie in the first place. Instead, they will attack the truth. 

But when he narrowly dodged a purse aimed directly at his head, his smile faded somewhat. His eyes narrowed in the darkness of the theatre, and the confidence that had once inflated his chest began to drain away. Yes, there were hundreds of vampires angrily approaching the stage... but there were also hundreds of angry vampires making a direct beeline for  _ him _ . 

“Okay kid, time to egress.” Hermela said, grabbing Sydney by the upper arm. “Go!” She shouted at the group. 

The tense, motionless waiting game all the vampires on the stage were playing suddenly collapsed into action. The world morphed and blurred into smears of violence around Sydney, almost too fast for her to keep up with, members of the Ashdowns and event security clashing in battle. But as she was being dragged through the fray, in between the moving vampires fighting one another, she saw Dorian stumble as he fired at Chase and missed. The blonde vampire leapt atop him, teeth bared, hands around his throat. Sofia tried to leap to his rescue but was having difficulty keeping others off of her. 

That same ear-muffling, time-slowing syrupy sensation was back. All Sydney could see amidst the haze of gunshots and sprays of dark vampiric blood was the sight of Chase’s veiny hands wrapped around the love of her life’s throat, doing all he could to detach his head from his shoulders. The last time she thought she was going to lose Dorian when he was mad with blood rage, she was filled with nothing but fear. Now she was filled with a fiery hot certainty: today would  _ not  _ be the day she lost him. Not if she had anything to say about it. 

With one arm still in Hermela’s grip, she ripped the vampire’s handgun from her hip holster and turned around, extending her arm and closing one eye, training her other on Chase. She had always won every round of darts she had played with her grandparents: she told herself this would be no different. She could do this. 

The blast from the gun hit her with stronger recoil than she expected. The bullet only grazed Chase’s shoulder, going no deeper than a few centimeters into his flesh. But it was enough to jolt him back a few feet, making him release his grip on Dorian’s throat and clutch his arm in pain. Dorian scrambled away from him, helped up by Sofia as they beelined to follow them. 

Time realigned as they stumbled back down the stage storage steps at lightning speed, forcing Sydney to run blindly through the dark room and eerie halls. The noise around them was almost overwhelming: more gunshots, the distant roar of the roiling audience of outraged immortals. She prayed that when they burst out into the parking lot again, everyone in their group would still be there. 

They exploded into the fluorescent underground hallway. Only now could Sydney see the splatter of superhuman blood across Hermela’s face, and the grim way Hakim was rebreaking his fingers so they healed in the correct position, even as he ran at a full sprint. She looked over her shoulder, a little relief flooding her system at the sight of the rest of her friends- her family- all following them at top speed. 

“You brought  _ him _ ?” Karyme said loudly as they descended a stairwell, distant shouts following them. She was glaring daggers at Sofia: she was holding Lysander over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

“He’s still my brother!” She said through gritted teeth. 

“If you don’t let him die here I’ll kill him myself!” Nakita shouted. If anyone had a right to a murderous rampage against the man, it was her. 

Almost as if by magic they were in the garage again, Sydney breathing so hard from exertion she thought she was going to pass out. 

“Barricade the exit!” Deveraux called, slamming the maintenance door and darting to a nearby car, his coat flapping as he ran. Almost as if on instinct every other vampire in the group got together and lifted the incredibly heavy vehicle, placing it against the metal door. Just as they set it down there was a slam on the other side that rocked the vehicle. 

“We’ve bought ourselves a few seconds. Let’s go!” 

Sofia grabbed Lysander again and made for the hatchback, but Nakita stepped in front of her. “Leave him.” She snarled. 

“They’ll  _ murder him  _ for being human, Nakita.” Sofia said. 

“Good. I won’t have to get my hands dirty.”

Sofia looked desperately at her sister, the lover of the woman who was in her face. Hermela showed no sympathy. Nobody in the group did.

“ _ Nobody  _ is getting in that car if that monster is coming with us.” Nakita spat.

“We need to leave  _ now _ ! Can’t we figure this out later?” Sofia pleaded. 

Sydney interrupted them both, antsy and angry and wanting more than anything to leave. “Here’s a compromise.” She growled, jerking Lysander away from his sister and giving him a single hard shove towards the entrance of the garage. “Leave. Just- just start walking. If you get killed by a vampire, I don’t care. If you get hit by a car, I don’t care. From now on, you’re on your own.”

He started down at her with morose, dull blue eyes. “I have nothing to live for now.”

“Not. My. Problem.” Sydney spat. “You are a murderer who destroyed hundreds of lives of people I care about. But I have standards: I’m not going to let one of my friends kill you. What happens to you after this won't be on my hands.” When he continued to stand there, frozen and dead-eyed, she jerked her body forward at him, angrily baring her teeth. “Go! Get the hell out of here before I go back on my promise!”

Lysander started off in a blind stumble that turned into an uncoordinated run, fleeing out into the nighttime. As soon as he was around the corner, it was like a great weight had been lifted from everyone’s chest: like suddenly, somehow, the air around them became easier to breath. 

“Everyone in the car.” Hakim broke the silence, fishing out the keys he confiscated from his now long-gone brother.

“And this is where I take my leave.” Karyme said quickly, walking backwards away from the group and towards the fluorescent street lights of the dark night outside. 

“You’re not coming with us?” Sydney asked as everyone scrambled to load into the car. 

Karyme laughed quickly. “This is my homeland. Wherever you're going, it’s going to be a whole lot harder to lay low with you lot. I’m not leaving my country: I’ll find somewhere to bunker down until things get less hot. Besides…” she took one last look at Hermela, who was opening the car door with a flourish for Nakita. “I don’t think I’d be welcome.” She saluted Sydney. “I gotta hand it to you, bloodbag. You got guts. Give me a ring when you crazy kids are ready to make good on your promise to me.” And with that she was gone in a whirl of bubblegum-pink scarf and echoing laughter.

Sydney wasn’t sure how to feel about that woman. But some part of her wanted to make sure she saw her again. Maybe changing back to her original state of humanity would give her the peace and self-assurance that she constantly seemed to be searching for. 

Menaket was opening the back trunk and getting ready to crawl into it when something jumped off the roof of a nearby car and landed on the hard concrete floor of the garage. She whirled around with the speed and fury only an extremely old and powerful individual could. Just as she suspected, the vampire stood in the middle of the garage road: Zhuang, with a jian sword held loosely in his hand. 

Almost immediately Menaket was flanked by Dorian and Hermela, who jumped out of the car like they had been electrocuted. Menaket held a hand up, stilling them from further action. 

“Do you know… what damage you have just done?” Zhuang said in ancient Egyptian, speaking only to his old enemy. His words dripped out of his mouth and seemed to burn the air, his use of the dead language feeling almost sacrilegious in the Menaket’s presence. “The disruption to order you have just caused?”

“I have done nothing but  _ restore  _ order to a long-unrepaired imbalance.” Menaket replied back coldly in her native tongue. 

“You are a  _ fool  _ to think so. You were going to use the gift you were given for what- as a medical tool? Your sight was small, girl. It still is.” Zhuang was slowly approaching step by step, sword extended away from his side. “I constructed an  _ empire  _ with the power you gave me. And now you have struck out against it. All you have done is turn your own people, your own children, against each other: are you happy with that?” 

“You must truly be terrified of the truth coming to light if you are desperate enough to try and guilt me.” Menaket cracked her neck. “And I  _ was  _ a small-sighted girl. Small-sighted to think a power hungry, cruel, manipulative man such as yourself would see the benefits this could have brought to people on a global scale instead of the power it provided.”

“Then face me.” Zhuang held his jian sword directly in front of himself, stance ready. “The creator of an empire against a woman who stumbled upon a gift from the gods. Then we shall finally see who is truly worthy of wielding the power of immortality.” With a sharp battle cry, he charged, closing the gap between them.

A sword, however, is not faster than a bullet. Zhuang gasped, holding his gut and letting his weapon fall onto the concrete with a clatter as he dropped to his knees, the gunshot still echoing across the garage. Red blossomed across his suit from his wound: without hesitation, Menaket had plucked the cocked gun from Dorian’s hands and shot him point-blank. 

“You have lived this lie of honor and superiority for so long that now even you believe it.” Menaket said, clutching the smoking weapon. “I let you take advantage of my kindness once. I will never allow you to do that again.” 

She put a bullet straight through his head, the cracking of the gunfire ricocheting through the long cement halls like a singular toll of a church bell: fatal and final.

Sydney had made the key mistake of poking her head out from the car door at the exact moment Zhuang’s head exploded like a watermelon. She made a noise in the back of her throat and promptly vomited. When she looked back up, everyone was staring at her: Dorian with haunted sympathy, and Menaket with tight-jawed understanding. 

“Hey, everyone.” Sydney said tiredly, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “I have a great idea. Let’s leave.”


	39. Book 2: Ch. 15

“Goodness. If you don’t enjoy this meal for me, I think I’ll cry. I haven’t eaten in decades but I know good food when I see it.” Sofia said, wide-eyed at the opulent spread before her. She and Sydney were tucked together in a soft, luxurious alcove with a rounded table: one of the many relaxing areas on the private jet Deveraux had paid for. 

Sydney smiled exhaustedly, poking the dish of cream of mushroom soup with her spoon: it was so rich, it was almost hard to stomach. She had  _ told  _ Deveraux on their harried, evasive route to the airport that he really didn’t need to drop what she was sure was the rest of his life savings on a short notice private jet with no questions asked. They would find another way out before the airport was crawling with angry vampires. But Deveraux just linked his arm with Hakim’s, looked her in the eye, and said that out of all the prices they may have had to pay tonight, this was the far least consequential. 

She couldn’t argue with that. 

Now they were cruising at an altitude of 31,000 feet. Her ears still hurt from how fast they had accelerated into the sky, and the roar of the engine didn’t help much. At least the pilot had given them his personal guarantee that they would only make one stop, and that was only to refuel. 

Menaket had her face practically pressed flat to a window. She’d been looking out of it since the plane started to move, her mouth a perfect ‘o’ of surprise and wonder. Next to her, Hermela had one hand pressed to one ear and her other holding the airplane telephone to her head. As soon as they had taken off she had called Sloan: a clear mistake on her behalf, because she hadn’t been able to get off the phone since. Apparently, unbeknownst to them, every single encoded platform and private media space that vampires had come to socialize online over was practically  _ exploding _ . Those that attended the meeting were in utter outrage, and the few thousand that couldn’t make it on time were exploding message boards and content threads, trying to put pieces of the puzzle together. The Ashdown name was everywhere. If they weren’t in the direct spotlight before, they sure were now. And standing in the center of everything like a tiny beacon of ginger was Sydney. The human had apparently been labeled the ‘primary instigator’ of all the social turmoil: a last-ditch effort scapegoat for the Assembly to shift blame off of themselves. 

When Sydney had heard about this, she didn’t really react. Maybe most people upon learning that they would probably be doggedly followed and watched for the rest of their lives would throw an enraged fit, but Sydney? She just took a careful inhale and continued to eat her soup. 

Was she mad that she had been dragged into this mess in the first place? Yes. Was she devastated that she could no longer jump ship and have a normal life? Of course. Was it worth it to help stop a society of killers and potentially prevent the unnecessary deaths of thousands of people a year? Absolutely. Yeah, there was going to be some emotional fallout once she fully grasped what she had just instigated. But through all of that, Sydney was  _ sure  _ that it was necessary. More necessary than a normal life, no matter how much she wanted it. 

But then she had the bright idea to call her sister after Hermela had gotten off the line. Hannah answered her call with a bright exuberance that immediately made Sydney burst into tears. She didn’t know, even just a few hours ago, if she was ever going to hear that voice again. They chatted briefly, but she held back a lot of the key details. There was no point in worrying her sister and her husband over what had just transpired… they’d probably learn about it soon enough anyway. 

* * *

“Do you think we actually did anything?” Dorian asked her later. They had nestled up together in the back, covered in an assortment of jackets and complimentary blankets. 

“Mmm, what do you mean by that?” Half-asleep, Sydney lifted her head from where it had been resting on the wall.

“It’s just…” Dorian hand one arm wrapped around her, his free hand combing through her long locks. “I feel like all we did was stir the pot. We didn’t- we didn’t  _ change  _ anything: it feels like we just made everyone angrier, more confused.” His eyebrows were drawn down pensively. The idea caused him great pain.

“Bah. Being confused is the first step to changing your point of view.” Sydney mumbled in reply. She sleepily leaned on Dorian’s shoulder. “We’re not  _ supposed  _ to have magically fixed everyone’s problems, okay? But we broke the surface tension. Now all we can do is sit on our hands and see in which direction the water pours out.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you are extraordinarily difficult to understand when you’re sleepy?”

“You know what’s  _ really  _ hard to understand?” Sydney glazed over his light-hearted jab with a new question. “Why they just…  _ let  _ us walk into the airport. Why they let us out of the city. I mean, we  _ saw  _ that they had agents planted at airports already, they almost killed us. Why would they let us go free now of all times?”

“Because the cat’s out of the bag.” Hermela commented from across the aisle. “Now the Red Assembly has to focus on damage control. Killing us, or stealing us away… that would raise even  _ more  _ red flags against them that they don’t want to be raised. They have their own fire to put out, at this point. I think this is the first time in history that their movements and policies are being heavily scrutinized.” 

“Sounds like it’s not just us who’s adrift anymore, huh?” Sydney mumbled in a half-awake reply. 

“It’s all of us, now.” Dorian petted her hair gently as he talked. Strange, how it took him finally acting on the beliefs he had believed in for so long in order for him to find this woman stumbling into his life. And even thought they wouldn’t be together forever, simply because of the nature of his existence, being around her was like breathing fresh air for the first time in his life. She was a woman with no ulterior motive, no dark skeletons in her closet. She was straightforward, honest… a real open book. He never realized how he just wanted someone to be their true self around him until now. All the other relationships he had through time were wild flings: a week or two of overblown, infectious passion entirely driven by a desperate need to be wanted, to be accepted. To be loved. Dorian didn’t have to feel that kind of desperation anymore. 

“Well. It might be all of us,” Sydney sighed, pressing Dorian’s knuckles to her lips for a soft kiss. “But at least we won’t be weathering it alone.” 

“Never again.” Dorian replied. For the first time in his long life, he had made peace with whatever the future would throw at him. He watched the soft pulse in the skin of Sydney’s neck, and drowsily dozed off with half-formed thoughts in his head: visions of her and him, together until the end of their days. Both happy. Both human.

* * *

When the warm summer breeze blew through the branches of the leafy, blooming Californian buckeyes, it felt like no time had passed at all. Like Sydney had never even left her old life behind in the first place. The long clusters of white blossoms sweetened the air as it was carried in through the Ashdown manor windows, mixing with the Motown music playing through the radio. 

The house was mostly empty now, though. It was quiet without the usual near dozen of people that had lived there for so many weeks. 

As soon as they had returned to the states with the Egyptian vampire in tow, Sloan had taken one look at Menaket and seen a new goal in their life. The aimless drifting that she had been stuck in ever since she was jettisoned from their home village vanished: it had always been her goal, her vision, to unify humanity and vampires. And what better way to do that than through helping the woman who could provide a cure to what so many viewed as a curse?

They crossed the border to South America together just days later, with Sofia tagging along: she knew the sovereign states better than anyone. They were going somewhere safe, somewhere remote, someone _ nobody _ could find them. There they could finally start teaching Menaket the modern languages and mechanics of the world, as well as work on building up a stockpile of the curative, if her recipe even still worked with modern ingredients. Just in case of any emergencies, they left Dorian with two sealed vessels, should anything happen; just enough to cure a few vampires. They had said their goodbyes on an early morning, hugging everyone and waving from out the car window as they disappeared into the purple dawn light. 

Of course, once a fraction of the group broke away, more followed. A day later DeMarco said his brief goodbyes, unwilling to stay any longer now that all eyes had turned on them. He dropped a very scared-looking Jameson back at his home in San Francisco: but not before Sydney had the chance to finally tell him to back off and stop being so irrevocably creepy to women. Her punching him square in the nose may have been excessive, but she shrugged off the criticism in the name of catharsis. 

Then, Nakita and Hermela left for Canada. They wanted to find and round up as many Enhed natives as they could, checking in on old friends and making sure everyone was safe and taken care of. Just tracking them down would take months. 

And finally, on a clear warm evening, Deveraux and Hakim sat down with the last two people of the house and told them they were going away to an undetermined location for an undetermined amount of time. At the table where they broke the news, they held hands. 

Sydney understood right away. She recalled back to Hakim’s past. He had had the first love of his life ripped out of his hands: it only made sense that he’d want to go everywhere and explore everything now that love had found him again. 

“You could do the same, you know.” Hakim told her as they stood by the door, luggage packed. “We both know that because of… well, everything that’s happened over the past year, none of us are flush with a lot of cash. But you could find a way to make it work. Travel to France, see the Eiffel tower. Go to Ecuador and scuba dive the Galapagos.” 

“I won’t lie, that sounds amazing, Hakim.” Sydney replied. “But… in all honesty? I’m tired of running from the big scary monster in the dark. No matter what happens, no matter how bad it gets, I’m not gonna hide anymore. I’m staying here: we’re clever enough to handle whatever comes our way.” Her gaze drifted to Dorian, who was out in the courtyard with Deveraux trying to fix the car trunk that refused to close. Dorian finally clambered atop the vehicle and began jumping up and down on the trunk, despite Deveraux's squawks of dismay.

Hakim smiled, a rare expression to cross his solemn face. “Yeah.” He ruffled Sydney’s hair like an older sibling and she dutifully pretended to be annoyed by it. “You keep him safe and out of trouble, okay? Buy a leash if you have to. Or a taser.” 

When Sydney looked up at the middle eastern vampire, her gaze was equal parts sad and pleased. This may very well be the last time she saw him, but it made her so happy to know that someone she cared about was off having their own adventures. Their own life, free from the shadow of what Godyth and Bernard wanted. “You keep safe too, Hakim.”

That afternoon was the only time she had gotten a hug from the tall, well-dressed man. And then they were gone. 

* * *

Every hall and every room felt achingly quiet for a while. Like the mansion was filled with ghosts: where Dorian and Sydney would constantly look up from their work or their cleaning, expecting to see Sofia moseying by on the phone, or one of the Enhed vampires ferrying water to the stables for Lysander's horses.

But eventually, as with most things in life, they adjusted. After a week of radio silence from the Red Assembly, Sydney was sitting on the broad doorsteps with a glass of lemonade, just enjoying the sun. It struck her that they had unknowingly completed a sort of perfect closed cycle. Now instead of Bernard and Godyth inhabiting this old home, ready to start building their life as they went forward, it was her and Dorian. The thought wasn’t exactly comforting, but… interesting. Very interesting indeed. Like the place that had caused so much torment, so much hidden pain, was finally being reclaimed.

And now it was June, with the hot air floating through the open windows and bringing in the smell of coastal summer and blooming buckeye, and Sydney finally felt safe. 

She turned the radio up from her perch in the middle of the granite island that dominated the center of the kitchen, picking blueberries out of a metal bowl and popping them in her mouth one by one. 

Dorian put his hands on his hips, glaring at her and looking thoroughly intimidating in his apron. “Hey. If you keep eating those, we’re not gonna have any to put in the pancakes.”

“Well then maybe you should be a faster chef. For example,” Sydney replied through a mouth full of blueberry, pointing to the bowl Dorian was whisking, “If you had  _ any  _ cooking experience at all you’d know that you’re supposed to put  _ melted  _ butter in the batter, not a whole stick straight from the fridge.”

Dorian paused mid-stir, looking at the large log of butter he had effectively just dumped into the flour and eggs. “That… makes a lot more sense, actually.” When Sydney snickered from her seat, his look soured comedically. “Don’t make fun of me! I haven’t had to cook anything since the thirties: and even  _ that  _ was more just putting an open can over some coals until it was hot.”

“Oh, you’re just mad because this is one of the things that I just so happen to be better at than you.” She teased as she gathered her hair into a ponytail. This house was so old it had no installed air conditioning, so the open windows and a breeze on her neck was as cool as she was going to get. 

The whisk lowered a bit in Dorian’s hand as he watched her, just following the smooth movement of her arms as she tied her hair up. “Oh, there’s a  _ lot  _ of things you’re better at than me, sweetheart.”

She was quick to catch onto his game. “Oh?” She tucked her feet under her, tilting her head with a smirk. “And what would those things be?”

“Well, you’re much better at being responsible,” Dorian set the whisk down in the bowl, “and you always come up with a plan, even if it’s on the fly.” 

Sydney snorted as Dorian swaggered closer to her. “Do go on.”

“And to top it all off,” Without even so much as a grunt of effort Dorian vaulted up onto the kitchen island, centimeters away from her. “You are  _ very  _ talented at making me want to kiss you.”

“Then do it.” Sydney breathed the words over his face with a smile, her fingers twisting into his short collar. 

Dorian made to close the gap between them, but stopped short with a confused noise when he found a large blueberry wedged between his lips. 

“ _ After  _ you brush your teeth.” Sydney laughed. She pressed her lips to his cheek. “Your breath smells like bagged blood.” With a chuckle she hopped off the kitchen island to attend to the mess that was the pancake batter, leaving Dorian crouched like a fool on top of it and holding a large piece of fruit in his mouth. He grumbled as he clambered off, shuffling towards the bathroom. Over the past weeks they had streamlined a simple and succinct way to get their hands on a bag or two of donor blood with every trip into a nearby city. It wasn’t a perfect system yet, but they were getting close. Their contacts in the Red Cross were promising.

Dorian’s hand was on the bathroom door handle when the gate intercom signal buzzed from the far end of the entryway. The two remaining people in the house froze in their actions, pale-faced and wide-eyed. Someone was outside the gates. They exchanged a long, potent look: Dorian had to swallow his initial instinct to tell Sydney to stay here while he investigated. That’s not what they were about. He didn’t have to do anything on his own anymore. 

As they hurried through the house, Sydney pulled two old handguns from the bureau drawer and tucked one into the waistband of her pants, tossing the other to Dorian who caught it effortlessly. They still both had half a magazine of curative firepower. At least if whatever was on the other side of the gate got bored of talking, they wouldn’t be defenseless. 

Dorian pressed the speaker button next to the intercom buzzer. A grainy image of the gate security camera popped up. Sydney looked over his shoulder tersely, seeing two individuals on a parked motorbike, both looking straight at the camera. 

“Who is it?” Dorian said stoically into the microphone. The silence while they waited for a reply was hair-raising. 

“This… this is the Ashdown estate, right? Where the Ashdown family lives?” A tentative female voice filtered through, filled with static. 

The question was ignored. “What do you want?”

The two individuals on screen looked at each other, the man encouraging the woman speaking. “We- we were at the convention. We saw what you did- how you  _ fixed  _ Lysander. None of us ever thought it was possible to go back to how we were before. And… well, we were wondering if you could do that for both of us?” They held one another’s hands as they waited for a reply from the gate speaker. 

A slow, incredulous grin crept over Sydney’s face. It seems the tide, as slow to turn as it was, was now turning in their favor. But Dorian looked only tentatively excited. 

“How can we be sure you’re not Assembly plants?” He countered. 

“We were turned against our will in 1955.” The woman was speaking again, in a voice that shook with truth. “Out of our four siblings, we were the only two that made it. We…  _ never  _ wanted to be this. But our new family was all we had, all we could trust. They said we had no other choice than to act according to their customs, their laws, their cruelties. Now… we just want out.”

“She’s being honest.” Sydney told Dorian, squeezing his arm. Her smile was brilliant, beaming with possibility. It was absolutely infectious. 

With a shake of his curly head, Dorian laughed and grinned. This was too good to be true. This was what he had wanted since he was turned. This was a  _ dream come true _ . “Wait there. We’ll come unlock the gate: you folks have a whole lot of information to catch up on.” He ended the transmission and immediately grabbed Sydney around the waist. They spun around the room in a joyous circle, laughing in sheer glee. For the first time they weren’t fighting against an unbeatable current, laboring to get the truth to everyone. If there were already two vampires like this, more would come. They had to. 

“Better get faster at makin’ pancakes.” Sydney said as she heaved open the massive front door, flashing a bright grin over her shoulder. “Something tells me we’re gonna start having a lot of hungry human mouths around here.” She practically skipped down the steps and into the summer sunlight. 

Dorian’s throat closed at the sight, and he felt his knees weaken. He had to lean against the doorway. It took his breath away to watch her move with such vigor, such life, such  _ passion.  _ She was a streak of red against the greens and browns of the California forest. Dorian idly touched the spot on his cheek where she last kissed him, feeling like he had been kicked in the gut with the realization of  _ just how much  _ he loved that woman and all of her determined strength. Maybe the reason he had never been able to take the step into action without her was that she was simply his other half: the half he had been missing like a big chunk of himself all his life, trying to fill the hole with parties and drinks and one night stands. 

In the distant summer air, Sydney turned on her heel and waved for him to join her, just a faint smudge at the end of the long and ambling driveway. 

With a deep breath, Dorian stepped out of the shadows and into the light of a future that, for once, he was sure was bright. 

**The End**

  
  
  



End file.
